THE  FAR  HORIZON 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR 

M  M  M 

THE  WAGES  OF  SIN 
A  COUNSEL  OF  PERFECTION 
COLONEL  ENDERBY'S  WIFE 
LITTLE  PETER 

THE  CARISSIMA 

THE  GATELESS  BARRIER 

THE  HISTORY  OF  SIR  RICHARD 
CALMADY 


THE    FAR    HORIZON 


BY 
LUCAS   MALET 

(MRS.  MARY  ST.  LEGER  HARRISON) 


NEW  YORK 
DODD,   MEAD   &   COMPANY 

1907 


COPYRIGHT,  1906,  BY 
DODD,  MEAD  &  COMPANY 
Published,  January,  1907 


THE   FAR   HORIZON 


999009*1 

£*£*^  «,  \J  /-W<L/ 


"  Ask  for  the  Old  Paths,  where  is  the  Good  Way,  and  walk  therein, 
and  ye  shall  find  rest." — JEREMIAS. 

"The  good  man  is  the  bad  man's  teacher;  the  bad  man  is  the  ma- 
terial upon  which  the  good  man  works.  If  the  one  does  not  value 
his  teacher,  if  the  other  does  not  love  his  material,  then  despite  their 
sagacity  they  must  go  far  astray.  This  is  a  mystery  of  great  im- 
port."— FROM  THE  SAYINGS  OF  LAo-Tztr. 

.  .  .  "Cherchons  a  voir  les  choses  comme  elles  sont,  et  ne  vou- 
lons  pas  avoir  plus  d'esprit  que  le  bon  Dieu!  Autrefois  on  croyait 
que  la  canne  a  sucre  seule  donnait  le  sucre,  on  en  tire  a  peu  pres  de 
tout  maintenant.  II  est  de  meme  de  la  poesie.  Extrayons-la  de 
n'importe  quoi,  car  elle  git  en  tout  et  partout.  Pas  un  atome  de 
matiere  qui  ne  contienne  pas  la  podsie.  Et  habituons-nous  a  con- 
siderer  le  monde  comme  un  oeuvre  d'art,  dont  il  faut  reproduire  les 
procdd£es  dans  nos  oeuvres." — GUSTAVE  FJLAUBERT. 


CHAPTER   I 

DOMINIC  IGLESIAS  stood  watching  while  the  lingering 
June  twilight  darkened  into  night.  He  was  tired  in  body, 
but  his  mind  was  eminently,  consciously  awake,  to  the 
point  of  restlessness,  and  this  was  unusual  with  him.  He 
had  raised  the  lower  sash  of  each  of  the  three  tall,  narrow 
windows  to  its  extreme  height,  since  the  first-floor  sitting- 
room,  though  of  fair  proportions,  appeared  close.  His 
thought  refused  the  limits  of  it,  and  ranged  outward 
over  the  expanse  of  Trimmer's  Green,  the  roadway  and 
houses  bordering  it,  to  the  far  northwest,  that  region 
of  hurried  storm,  of  fierce,  equinoctial  passion  and  con- 
flict, now  paved  with  plaques  of  flat,  dingy,  violet  cloud 
opening  on  smoky  rose-red  wastes  of  London  sunset. 
All  day  thunder  had  threatened,  but  had  not  broken. 
And,  even  yet,  the  face  of  heaven  seemed  less  peaceful 
than  remonstrant,  a  sullenness  holding  it  as  of  troops 
in  retreat  denied  satisfaction  of  imminent  battle. 

Otherwise  the  outlook  was  wholly  pacific,  one  of 
middle-qlass  suburban  security.  The  Green  aforesaid  is 
bottle-shaped,  the  neck  of  it  debouching  into  a  crowded 
westward-wending  thoroughfare;  while  Cedar  Lodge, 
from  the  first-floor  windows  of  which  Mr.  Iglesias  con- 
templated the  oncoming  of  night,  being  situate  in  the 
left  shoulder,  so  to  speak,  of  the  bottle,  commanded, 
diagonally,  an  uninterrupted  view  of  the  whole  extent 
of  it.  Who  Trimmer  was,  how  he  came  by  a  Green,  and 
why,  or  what  he  trimmed  on  it,  it  is  idle  at  this  time  of 
day  to  attempt  to  determine.  Whether,  animated  by  a 
desire  for  the  public  welfare,  he  bequeathed  it  in  high  char- 
itable sort;  or  whether,  fame  taking  a  less  enviable  turn 


2  THE     FAR    HORIZON 

with  him,  he  just  simply  was  hanged  there,  has  afforded 
matter  of  heated  controversy  to  the  curious  in  questions 
of  suburban  nomenclature  and  topography.  But  in  this 
case,  as  in  so  many  other  and  more  august  ones,  the 
origins  defy  discovery.  Suffice  it,  therefore,  that  the 
name  remains,  as  does  the  open  space — the  latter  form- 
ing one  of  those  minor  "  lungs  of  London  "  which  offer 
such  amiable  oases  in  the  great  city's  less  aristocratic 
residential  districts.  Formerly  the  Green  boasted  a  row 
of  fine  elms,  and  was  looked  on  by  discreetly  handsome 
eighteenth-century  mansions  and  villas,  set  in  spacious 
gardens.  But  of  these,  the  great  majority — Cedar  Lodge 
being  a  happy  exception — have  vanished  under  the  hand 
of  the  early  Victorian  speculative  builder;  who,  in  their 
stead,  has  erected  full  complement  of  the  architectural 
platitudes  common  to  his  age  and  taste.  Dignity  has 
very  sensibly  given  place  to  gentility.  Nevertheless  the 
timid  red,  or  sickly  yellow-grey,  brick  of  the  existing 
houses  is  pleasingly  veiled  by  ivy  and  Virginia  creeper, 
while  no  shop  front  obtrudes  derogatory  suggestion  of 
retail  trade.  The  local  authorities,  moreover,  some  ten 
years  back  girdled  the  Green  with  healthy  young  balsam- 
poplar  and  plane  trees  and  enclosed  the  grass  with  iron 
hurdles — to  rescue  it  from  trampling  into  unsightly  path- 
ways— thus  doing  a  well-intentioned,  if  somewhat  unim- 
aginative, best  to  safeguard  the  theatre  of  long  ago 
Trimmer's  beneficence  or  infamy  from  greater  spolia- 
tion. 

Hence  it  follows  that,  certain  inherent  limitations 
admitted,  the  scene  upon  which  Dominic  Iglesias'  eyes 
rested  was  not  without  elements  of  attraction.  And  of 
this  fact,  being  a  person  of  an  excellent  temperance  of 
expectation,  he  was  gratefully  aware.  His  surroundings, 
indeed,  constituted,  so  it  appeared  to  him,  the  maximum 
of  comfort  and  advantage  which  could  be  expected  by 


THE    FAR    HORIZON  3 

a  middle-aged  gentleman,  of  moderate  fortune,  in  the 
capacity  of  a  "  paying  guest."  Not  only  in  word  but 
in  thought — for  in  acknowledgment  of  obligation  he  was 
scrupulously  courteous — he  frequently  tendered  thanks  to 
his  neighbour  and  old  school-fellow,  Mr.  George  Love- 
grove,  first  for  calling  his  attention  to  Mrs.  Porcher's 
advertisement,  and  subsequently  for  reassuring  him  as 
to  its  import.  For,  though  incapable  of  forming  so  much 
as  a  thought  to  her  concrete  disparagement,  Mr.  Igle- 
sias  was  not  without  a  quiet  sense  of  humour,  or  of  that 
instinct  of  self-protection  common  to  even  the  most  chiv- 
alrous of  mankind.  He  was,  therefore,  perfectly  sensible 
that  "  the  widow  of  a  military  officer,"  who  describes 
herself  in  print  as  "  bright,  musical  and  thoroughly 
domesticated,"  while  offering  "  a  cheerful  and  refined 
home  at  the  West  End,  within  three  minutes  of  Tube  and 
omnibus  " — "  noble  dining  and  recreation  rooms,  bath 
h.  and  c."  thrown  in — to  unmarried  members  of  the 
stronger  sex,  must  of  necessity  be  a  lady  whose  close  ac- 
quaintance it  would  be  foolhardy  to  make  without  a  trifle 
of  preliminary  scouting. 

Happily  not  only  George  Lovegrove,  but  his  estimable 
wife  was  at  hand.  The  latter  hastened  to  prosecute 
inquiries,  beginning  with  a  visit  to  the  Anglican  vicar  of 
the  parish,  the  Rev.  Giles  Nevington.  He  reported  'Mrs. 
Porcher  an  evening  communicant  at  the  greater  festivals, 
and  a  not  ungenerous  donor  to  parochial  charities;  add- 
ing that  a  former  curate  had  resided  under  her  roof  with 
perfect  impunity.  Mrs.  Lovegrove  terminated  her  re- 
searches by  an  interview  with  the  fishmonger,  who  assured 
her  that  "  Cedar  Lodge  always  took  the  best  cuts,"  sternly 
refused  fish  or  poultry  which  had  suffered  cold  storage, 
and  paid  its  housebooks  without  fail  before  noon  on 
Thursday.  She  ascertained,  further,  from  a  source  so- 
cially intermediate  between  clergyman  and  tradesman, 


4  THE     FAR    HORIZON 

that  Mrs.  Porcher's  husband,  some  time  veterinary  sur- 
geon of  a  crack  regiment,  had  died  in  the  odour  of  alcohol 
rather  than  in  that  of  sanctity,  leaving  his  widow— in 
addition  to  his  numerous  and  heavy  debts— but  a  frac- 
tion of  the  comfortable  fortune  to  procure  the  enjoyment 
of  which  he  had  so  considerately  married  her.  The  solid 
Georgian  mansion  was  her  freehold;  and  it  was  to  secure 
sufficient  means  for  continued  residence  in  it  that  the  poor 
lady  started  a  boarding-house,  or  in  the  politer  language 
of  the  present  day,  had  decided  to  receive  paying  guests. 

Encouraged  by  the  satisfactory  nature  of  the  above 
information,  Mr.  Iglesias— shortly  after  his  mother's 
death,  now  nearly  eight  years  ago — had  become  a  mem- 
ber of  Mrs.  Porcher's  household.  He  had  never,  so  far, 
had  reason  to  regret  that  step.  And  it  was  with  a 
consciousness  of  well-being  and  repose  that  he  returned 
daily— after  hours  of  strenuous  work  in  the  well-known 
city  banking  house  of  Messrs.  Barking  Brothers  &  Bark- 
ing— to  this  square  first-floor  sitting-room,  to  its  dimly 
white  panelled  and  painted  walls,  its  nice  details  of  carved 
work  in  chimney-piece  and  ceiling,  and  the  outlook  from 
its  tall,  narrow  windows.  A  touch  of  old-world  state- 
liness  in  its  aspect  satisfied  hia  latent  pride  of  race.  To 
certain  natures  not  obscurity  or  slender  means,  but  the 
pretentious  vulgarity  which,  in  English-speaking  coun- 
tries, too  often  goes  along  with  these  constitutes  the 
burden  and  the  offence. 

To-night,  however,  things  were  different.  Material 
objects  remained  the  same;  but  the  conditions  of  exist- 
ence had  taken  on  a  strange  appearance,  and  with  that 
appearance  Iglesias  was  bound  to  reckon,  being  uncertain 
as  yet  whether  it  was  destined  to  prove  that  of  a  friend 
or  of  an  enemy.  In  furtherance  of  such  reckoning,  he 
had  declined  dining  at  the  public  table,  in  company  with 
his  hostess,  Miss  Eliza  Hart,  her  devoted  friend  and  com- 


panion,  and  the  three  gentlemen — Mr.  de  Courcy  Smyth, 
Mr.  Farge,  and  Mr.  Worthington — who  shared  with  him 
the  hospitalities  of  Cedar  Lodge.  He  had  dined  here, 
upstairs,  solitary;  and  Frederick,  the  German-Swiss  valet, 
had  just  finished  clearing  the  table  and  departed.  Usually 
under  such  circumstances  Iglesias  would  have  taken  a 
favourite  book  from  the  carved  Spanish  mahogany  book- 
case containing  his  small  library ;  and,  reading  again  that 
which  he  had  often  read  before,  would  have  found  therein 
the  satisfaction  of  friendship,  along  with  the  soothing  in- 
fluences of  familiarity.  But  to-night  neither  Gibbon's 
Rome — a  handsome  early  edition  in  many  volumes — 
The  Travels  of  Anacharsis,  Evelyn's  Diary,  Napier's 
Peninsular  War,  John  Stuart  Mill's  Logic,  Byron's 
Poems,  nor  those  of  Calderon,  nor  of  that  so-called 
"  prodigy  of  nature,"  Lope  de  Vega,  not  even  the  dear  and 
immortal  Don  Quixote  himself,  served  to  attract  him.  His 
own  thoughts,  his  own  life,  filled  his  whole  horizon,  leaving 
no  space  for  the  thoughts  or  lives  of  others.  He  found 
himself  a  prey  to  a  certain  mental  incoherence,  a  be- 
wildering activity  of  vision.  More  than  once  before  in 
the  course  of  his  laborious,  monotonous,  and,  as  men  go, 
very  virtuous  life  had  this  same  thing  happened  to  him — 
the  tides  of  the  obvious  and  accustomed  suddenly  receding 
and  leaving  him  stranded,  as  on  some  barren  sand-bank, 
uncertain  whether  the  ship  of  his  individual  fate  would 
lie  there  wind-swept  and  sun-bleached  till  rusty  rivets 
fell  out  and  planks  parted,  disclosing  the  ribs  of  her  in 
unsightly  nakedness,  or  whether  the  kindly  tide,  rising, 
would  float  her  off  into  blue  water  and  she  would  sail  hope- 
fully once  again. 

It  was  inevitable  that  this  present  experience  should 
recall  these  other  happenings,  evoking  memories  poignant 
enough.  The  first  time  the  ship  of  his  fate  thus  stranded 
was  when,  as  a  lad  of  seventeen,  he  left  school.  Living 


6  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

alone  with  his  mother  in  a  quaint  little  house  in  Holland 
Street,  Kensington,  eagerly  ambitious  to  make  his  way 
in  the  world  and  to  obtain,  it  had  dawned  on  him  that 
there  was  something  strange,  unhappy,  and  not  as  it 
was  wont  to  be  with  that,  to  him,  most  beautiful  and 
beloved  of  women.  The  mere  suspicion  was  as  a  blas- 
phemy against  which  his  young  loyalty  revolted.  For 
Dominic,  with  the  inherent  pieties  of  his  Latin  and  Celtic 
blood,  had  none  of  that  contemptuous  superiority  in  re- 
gard of  his  near  relations  so  common  to  male  creatures  of 
the  Protestant  persuasion  and  Anglo-Saxon  race.  He  took 
his  parents  quite  seriously ;  it  never  having  occurred  to  him 
that  fathers  and  mothers  are  given  us  merely  for  purposes 
of  discipline,  or  as  helot-like  examples  of  what  to  avoid. 
He  was  simple-minded  enough  indeed  to  regard  them  as 
sacred,  altogether  beyond  the  bounds  of  legitimate  criti- 
cism— and  this,  as  destiny  would  have  it,  with  intimate 
and  life-long  results. 

Vaguely,  through  the  mists  of  infancy,  he  could 
remember  a  hurried  exodus — after  sound  of  cannon  and 
sight  of  blood — from  Spain,  the  fierce  and  pious  country 
of  his  birth.  Since  then,  while  his  mother  lived — namely, 
till  he  was  a  man  of  over  forty — always  and  only  the 
house  in  the  Kensington  side  street,  with  its  crooked 
creaking  stairways,  its  high  wainscots — behind  which 
mice  squeaked  and  scampered — its  clinging  odour  of 
ancient  woodwork,  its  low  ceilings,  and  uneven  floors.  At 
the  back  of  it  was  a  narrow  strip  of  garden,  glorious 
for  one  brief  week  in  early  summer,  with  the  gold  of  a 
big  laburnum;  and  fragrant  later  thanks  to  faithful 
effort  on  the  part  of  the  white  jasmine  clothing  its  enclos- 
ing walls.  In  fair  weather  the  morning  sun  lay  warm 
there;  while  the  sky  showed  all  the  bluer  overhead  for 
the  dark  lines  of  the  adjacent  housetops,  and  upstand- 
ing deformities  in  the  matter  of  zinc  cowls  and  chimney- 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  7; 

pots.  Frequented  by  cats,  boasting  in  the  centre  a 
rockery  of  gas  clinkers  and  chalk  flints  surmounted  by  a 
stumpy  fluted  column  bearing  a  stone  basin — in  which, 
after  rain,  sparrows  disported  themselves  with  much  con- 
versation and  fluttering  of  sooty  wings — the  garden  was, 
to  little  Dominic,  a  place  of  wonder  and  delight.  He 
peopled  it  with  beings  of  his  own  fancy,  lovely  or  terrific, 
according  to  his  passing  humour.  Granted  a  measure  of 
imagination,  the  solitary  child  is  often  the  happiest  child, 
since  the  social  element,  with  its  inevitable  materialism, 
is  absent,  and  the  dear  spirit  of  romance  is  unquenched 
by  vulgar  comment. 

His  father,  grave  and  preoccupied,  whose  arrivals  after 
long  periods  of  absence  had  in  them  an  effect  of  secrecy 
and  haste,  was  to  the  small  boy  a  being,  august,  but 
remote.  During  his  brief  sojourns  at  home  the  quiet 
house  awoke  to  greater  fulness  of  life,  with  much  coming 
and  going  of  other  grave  personages,  strange  of  dress, 
and  with  a  certain  effect  of  hardly  restrained  violence  in 
their  aspect.  A  spirit  of  fear  seemed  to  enter  with 
them,  demanding  an  unnatural  darkening  of  windows  and 
closing  of  doors.  Before  Dominic  they  were  of  few  words ; 
but  became  eloquent  enough,  in  sonorous  foreign  speech, 
as  his  ears  testified  when  he  was  banished  from  their  rather 
electric  presence  to  the  solitude  of  the  nursery  above. 
And  so  it  came  about  that  a  sense  of  mystery,  of  large 
issues,  of  things  at  once  strong  and  hidden,  impenetrable 
to  his  understanding  and  concerning  which  no  questions 
might  be  asked,  encircled  Dominic's  childhood  and  passed 
into  the  very  fabric  of  his  thought.  While  through  it  all 
his  mother  moved,  to  him  tender  and  wholly  exquisite, 
but  with  the  reticence  of  some  deep-seated  enthusiasm 
silently  cherished,  some  far-reaching  alarm  silently  en- 
dured, always  upon  her.  And  this  resulted  in  an  atmos- 
phere of  seriousness  and  responsibility  which  inevitably 


8  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

reacted  on  the  boy,  making  him  sober  beyond  his  years, 
tempering  his  natural  vivacity  with  watchfulness,  and 
pitching  even  his  laughter  in  a  minor  key. 

Only  many  years  later,  when  after  his  mother's  death 
it  became  his  duty  to  read  letters  exchanged  between  his 
parents  during  this  period,  did  Dominic  Iglesias  touch 
the  key  to  the  riddle,  and  fully  measure  the  public  danger, 
the  private  strain  and  stress  which  had  surrounded  his 
childhood  and  early  youth.  For  his  father,  a  man  of 
far  from  ignoble  nature,  but  of  narrow  outlook  and  un- 
dying hatreds,  was  deeply  involved  in  revolutionary 
intrigue  of  the  most  advanced  type — a  victim  of  that 
false  passion  of  humanity  which  takes  its  rise  not  in 
honest  desire  for  the  welfare  of  mankind,  but  in  blind 
rebellion  against  all  forms  of  authority.  His  self-confi- 
dence was  colossal;  all  rule  being  abominable  to  him — 
save  his  own — all  rulers  hideous,  save  himself.  The  an- 
archist, rightly  understood,  is  merely  the  autocrat,  the 
tyrant,  turned  inside  out.  And  this  man,  as  Dominic 
gathered  from  the  perusal  of  those  old  letters,  to  whom 
the  end  so  justified  the  means  that  red-handed  crime  took 
on  the  fair  colours  of  virtue,  his  mother  had  loved,  even 
while  she  feared  him,  with  all  the  faithfulness  and  pure 
passion  of  her  Irish  blood.  Pathetic  combination,  the 
patience  and  resignation  of  the  one  ever  striving  to 
temper  the  flaming  zeal  of  the  other,  as  though  the  spin- 
drift of  the  Atlantic,  sweeping  inland  from  the  dim 
sadness  of  far  western  coasts,  should  strive  with  relentless 
fierceness  of  sunglare  outpoured  on  some  high-lying 
walled  city  of  arid  central  Spain!  Mist  is  but  a  weak 
thing  as  against  rock  and  fire ;  and  what  his  mother  must 
have  suffered  in  moral  and  spiritual  conflict,  let  alone 
all  question  of  active  dread,  was  to  her  son  almost  too 
cruel  to  contemplate,  although  it  explained  and  justified 
much. 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  9 

In  1860,  when  Dominic  was  a  schoolboy  of  fourteen, 
his  father  left  home  on  one  of  those  sudden  journeys  the 
object  and  objective  of  which  were  alike  concealed. 
For  about  a  year  letters  arrived  at  irregular  intervals, 
hailing  from  Paris,  Naples,  Prague,  and  finally  Peters- 
burg. Then  followed  silence,  broken  only  by  rumours 
furtively  conveyed  by  a  former  associate,  one  Pascal 
Pelletier — an  angel-faced,  long-haired,  hysteric  creature, 
inspired  by  an  impassioned  enthusiasm  for  infernal  ma- 
chines and  wholesale  slaughter  in  theory,  and,  in  practice, 
by  a  gentle  doglike  devotion  to  Mrs.  Iglesias  and  young 
Dominic.  He  would  arrive  depressed  and  shadowy  in 
the  shadowy  twilights.  But,  once  in  the  presence  of  the 
beings  whom  he  loved,  he  became  effervescent.  His  be- 
lief was  unlimited  in  the  Head  Centre,  the  Chief,  in  his 
demonic  power  and  fertility  of  resource.  That  any  evil 
should  befall  him! — Pascal  snapped  his  thin  fingers; 
while,  with  the  inalienable  optimism  of  the  born  fanatic, 
he  proceeded  to  state  hopeful  conjecture  as  established 
fact,  thereby  doing  homage  to  the  spirit  of  delusion 
which  so  conspicuously  ruled  him  even  to  his  inmost 
thought.  But  a  spell  of  cold  weather  in  the  winter  of 
1862  struck  a  little  too  shrewdly  through  Pascal's  seedy 
overcoat,  causing  that  tender-hearted  subverter  of  so- 
ciety to  cough  his  life  out,  with  all  possible  despatch,  in 
the  third-floor  back  of  a  filthy  lodging-house  off  Totten- 
ham Court  Road. 

This  was  the  end  as  far  as  information  went,  whether 
authentic  or  apocryphal.  But  Dominic,  his  horizon  still 
bounded  by  the  world  of  school,  greedy  of  distinction 
both  in  learning  and  in  games,  away  all  day  and  eagerly, 
if  somewhat  sleepily,  busy  over  the  preparation  of  les- 
sons at  night,  was  very  far  from  realising  that.  Poor 
voluble  kind-eyed  Pascal  he  mourned  with  all  his  heart; 
yet  the  months  of  his  father's  absence  accumulated  into 


10  THE     FAR    HORIZON 

years  almost  unnoticed.  The  same  thing  had  so  often 
happened  before ;  and  then,  at  an  unlooked-for  moment, 
the  wanderer  had  returned.  Moreover,  the  old  habit 
of  obedience  was  still  strong  in  him.  It  was  understood 
that  concerning  his  father's  occupations  and  movements 
no  comment  might  be  made,  no  questions  might  be  asked. 

Meanwhile,  the  small  house  in  Holland  Street  was  ever 
more  still,  more  unfrequented.  As  he  grew  older  Dominic 
became  increasingly  sensible  of  this — sensible  of  a  sort 
of  hush  falling  on  him  as  he  crossed  the  threshold,  so 
that  instinctively  he  left  much  of  his  wholesome  young 
animality  outside,  while  his  voice  took  on  softer  tones 
in  speech,  and  his  quick  light  footsteps  became  more 
scrupulously  noiseless  as  he  ran  up  the  little  crooked 
stairs. 

"  When  your  father  comes  home  we  must  decide  what 
profession  you  shall  follow,  my  Dominic,"  it  had  been 
his  mother's  habit  to  declare.  But,  even  before  the  time 
for  such  decision  arrived  the  boy  had  begun  to  under- 
stand he  must  see  to  all  that  unaided.  For  his  mother 
was  ill,  how  deeply  and  in  what  manner  he  could  not  tell. 
He  shrank,  indeed,  from  all  clear  thought,  let  alone 
speech,  on  the  subject,  as  from  something  indelicate,  in 
a  way  irreverent.  Her  beauty  remained  to  her,  notwith- 
standing a  gradual  wasting  as  of  fever.  A  peculiar,  very 
individual  grace  of  dress  and  of  bearing  remained  to 
her  likewise.  But  she  was  uncertain  in  mood,  the  vic- 
tim of  strange  fancies,  a  being  almost  alarmingly  far 
removed  from  the  interests  of  ordinary  life.  Long  ago, 
in  submission  to  her  husband's  anti-clerical  prejudices, 
she  had  ceased  to  practise  her  religion,  so  that  the  services 
of  the  Church  no  longer  called  her  forth  in  beneficent 
routine  of  sacred  obligation.  Now  she  never  left  the 
house,  living,  since  poor  Pascal  Pelletier's  death,  in  com- 
plete seclusion.  Little  wonder  then  that  a  hush  fell  on 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  11 

Dominic  crossing  the  threshold,  since  so  doing  he  passed 
from  the  world  of  healthy  action  to  that  of  acquiescent 
sickness,  from  vigorous  hoarse-voiced  realities  to  the  in- 
tangible sadness  of  unrelated  dreams !  The  effect  was  one 
of  rather  haunting  melancholy;  and  it  was  characteris- 
tic of  the  lad  that  he  did  not  resent  it,  though  rejoicing 
in  the  reputation  at  school  of  being  high-spirited  enough, 
impatient  of  restraint  or  of  any  frustration  of  purpose. 
His  mother  had  always  been  sacred.  She  remained  so, 
even  though  her  sympathies  had  become  imperfect,  and 
she  moved  in  regions  which  his  sane  young  imagination 
failed  to  penetrate.  One  thing  was  perfectly  plain  to 
him,  though  it  cut  at  the  root  of  ambition — namely,  that 
he  could  not  leave  her.  So,  in  that  matter  of  a  profession, 
he  must  find  work  which  would  permit  of  his  continuing 
to  live  at  home;  and,  since  her  income  was  narrow,  the 
work  in  question  must  make  no  heavy  demand  in  respect 
of  preliminary  expense. 

Here  was  a  problem  more  easy  of  statement  than  of 
solution,  in  face  of  Dominic's  pride,  inexperience,  and 
the  singular  isolation  of  his  position!  There  followed 
dreary  months  wherein  his  evenings  were  spent  in  study- 
ing and  answering  advertisements ;  and  his  days,  till 
late  afternoon,  in  walking  the  town  from  end  to  end 
for  the  interviewing  of  possible  employers  and  the  keep- 
ing of  fruitless  appointments.  He  would  set  forth  full 
of  hope  and  courage  in  the  morning,  only  to  return  full 
of  the  dejection  of  failure  at  night.  And  it  was  then 
London  began  to  reveal  herself  to  him  in  her  solidarity, 
under  the  cloud  of  dun-blue  coal  smoke — it  was  winter- 
time— which,  at  once  hanging  over  and  penetrating  her 
immensity,  adds  the  majesty  of  mystery  to  the  majesty 
of  mere  size.  He  noted  how,  in  the  chill  twilights,  London 
grew  strangely  and  feverishly  alive.  Lamps  sprang  into 
clearness  along  the  pavements,  A  dazzling  glitter  of 


12  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

shop  windows  marked  the  great  thoroughfares,  while  often 
the  angry  glare  of  a  fire  pulsed  along  the  sky-line.  When 
night  comes  in  the  country,  so  Dominic  told  himself,  the 
land  sinks  into  peaceful  repose.  But  in  cities  it  is  other- 
wise. There  the  light  leaves  heaven  for  earth;  and 
walks  the  streets,  with  much  else  far  from  celestial,  until 
the  small  hours  move  towards  the  dawn  and  usher  in  the 
decencies  of  day. 

Never  before  had  he  seen  London  thus  and  understood 
it  in  all  its  enormous  variety,  yet  as  a  unit,  a  whole.  How 
much  he  actually  beheld  with  his  bodily  eyes,  how  much 
through  the  working  of  a  rather  exalted  condition  of 
imagination  induced  by  loneliness  and  bodily  fatigue,  he 
could  never  subsequently  determine.  But  the  great  city 
presented  herself  to  him  in  the  guise  of  some  prodigious 
living  creature,  breathing,  feeding,  suffering,  triumph- 
ing, above  all  mating  and  breeding,  terrible  in  her  power 
and  vitality,  age  old,  yet  still  unspent.  Presented  herself 
to  him  as  horribly  prolific,  ever  outpassing  her  own  un- 
wieldy limits,  sending  forth  her  children,  year  after  year, 
all  the  wide  world  over  by  shipping  or  by  rail;  receiving 
some  tithe  of  them  back,  proud  with  accomplished  for- 
tune to  enhance  her  glory,  or,  disgraced  and  broken, 
slinking  homeward  to  the  cover  of  her  fog  and  darkness 
merely  to  swell  the  numbers  of  the  nameless  who  rot  and 
die.  He  thought  of  those  others,  too — and  this  touched 
his  young  ardour  with  a  quick  shudder  of  personal  fear 
—whom  she  never  sends  forth  at  all;  but  holds  close  in 
bondage  all  their  lives  long,  enslaved  to  her  countless  and 
tyrant  activities  by  their  own  poverty,  or  by  their  fellow- 
creatures'  misfortune,  cruelties,  and  sins.  Was  it  thus 
she  was  going  to  deal  with  him,  Dominic  Iglesias?  Was 
he  to  be  among  the  great  city's  bondmen  through  the 
coming  years,  better  acquainted  with  the  very  earthly 
light  which  walks  her  streets  by  night,  than  with  the 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  13 

heavenly  light  which  gladdens  the  sweet  face  of  day  in 
the  open  country  and  upon  the  open  sea?  And  for  a 
moment  the  boy's  heart  rebelled,  hungry  for  pleasure, 
hungry  for  wide  experience,  hungry  even  for  knowledge 
of  those  revolutionary  intrigues  which,  as  he  was  begin- 
ning to  understand,  had  surrounded  his  childhood,  and, 
as  he  was  beginning  to  fear,  had  cost  his  mother  her 
reason  and  his  father  both  liberty  and  life.  Thus  did 
the  ship  of  poor  Dominic's  fate  appear  to  be  stranded 
or  ever  it  had  fairly  set  sail  at  all. 

Meanwhile,  if  London  claimed  him,  she  did  so  in  very 
cynical  fashion,  mocking  his  willingness  to  labour,  re- 
fusing to  feed  him  even  while  she  refused  to  let  him  go. 
Everything,  he  feared,  was  against  him — his  youth,  his 
foreign  name,  his  limited  acquaintance,  the  impossibility 
of  giving  definite  information  regarding  his  father's  past 
occupations  or  present  whereabouts.  Moreover,  his  spare 
young  figure,  his  thin  shapely  hands  and  feet,  his  blue- 
black  Irish  eyes  and  black  hair,  his  energetic  colourless 
face,  his  ready  yet  reticent  speech — all  these  marked  him 
as  unusual  and  exotic.  And  for  the  unusual  and  exotic 
the  British  employer  of  labour — of  whatever  sort — has, 
it  must  be  conceded,  but  little  use.  He  is  half  afraid, 
half  contemptuous  of  it,  instinctively  disliking  anything 
more  alert  and  alive  than  his  own  most  stolid  self.  But 
while  men,  distrusting  the  distinctness  of  his  personality,, 
and  his  good  looks,  refused  to  give  Dominic  work,  women, 
relishing  them,  were  only  too  ready  to  give  him  enjoy- 
ment— of  a  kind.  The  boy,  in  those  solitary  wanderings, 
ran  the  gauntlet  of  many  temptations ;  and  was  pre- 
sented— did  he  care  to  accept  it — with  the  freedom  of 
the  city  on  very  liberal  lines.  Happily,  inherent  cleanli- 
ness of  nature  saved  him  from  much ;  and  reverent  shame 
at  the  thought  of  entering  the  hushed  and  silent  house 
where  his  mother  lived — spotless,  amid  pathetic  memories 


14  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

and  delicate  dreams — with  the  soil  of  licence  upon  him, 
saved  him  from  more.  Crime  might  have  come  close 
to  him  in  his  childhood,  but  vice  never;  and  the  influ- 
ences of  vice  are  far  more  insidious,  and  consequently 
more  damaging,  than  those  of  crime. 

Still,  one  way  and  another,  the  boy  came  very  near 
touching  the  confines  of  despair.  Then  the  tide  rose  and 
the  stranded  ship  of  his  fate  began  to  lift  a  little.  By 
means  of  a  series  of  accidents — the  illness  of  his  former 
school-fellow,  the  already  mentioned  George  Lovegrove, 
whose  post  he  offered  temporarily  to  fill — he  drifted  into 
connection  with  the  banking  house  of  Messrs.  Barking 
Brothers  &  Barking.  There  his  knowledge  of  modern 
languages,  his  industry,  and  a  certain  discreet  aloofness 
commended  him  to  his  superiors.  A  minor  clerkship  fell 
vacant ;  it  was  offered  to  him.  And  from  thenceforth,  for 
Dominic  Iglesias,  the  monotony  of  fixed  routine  and  steady 
labour,  until  the  day  when,  as  a  man  of  past  fifty,  restless 
and  somewhat  distrustful  both  of  the  present  and  the 
future,  he  watched  the  dying  of  the  sullen  sunset  over 
Trimmer's  Green  from  the  windows  of  the  first-floor  sit- 
ting-room of  Cedar  Lodge. 


CHAPTER  H 

THAT  which  had  in  point  of  fact  happened  was  not,  as 
Iglesias  felt,  without  a  pretty  sharp  edge  of  irony.  For 
to-day,  London,  so  long  his  task-mistress  and  gaoler,  had 
assumed  a  new  attitude  towards  him.  Suddenly,  unex- 
pectedly, she  had  cast  him  off,  given  him  his  freedom.  It 
was  amazing,  a  thing  to  take  your  breath  away  for  the 
moment.  And  agitated  and  hurt — for  his  pride  unques- 
tionably had  suffered  in  the  process — Iglesias  asked  him- 
self what  in  the  world  he  should  do  with  this  gift  of  free- 
dom, what  he  should  do,  indeed,  with  that  which  remained 
to  him  of  life. 

It  had  come  about  thus.  Seeking  an  interview  that 
morning  with  Sir  Abel  Barking,  in  the  tatter's  private 
room  at  the  bank,  he  had  made  certain  statements  regard- 
ing his  own  health  in  justification  of  a  request  for  some 
weeks'  rest  and  holiday  now,  rather  than  later,  in  Septem* 
her,  when  his  yearly  vacation  would  fall  due. 

"  So  you  find  yourself  unequal  to  dealing  satisfactorily 
with  the  increasing  intricacy  of  our  financial  operations, 
become  confused  by  the  multiplicity  of  detail,  suffer  from 
pains  in  the  head?  "  Sir  Abel  had  commented,  with  a  cer- 
tain largeness  of  manner.  "  I  own,  my  good  friend,  I  was 
not  wholly  unprepared  for  this  announcement.'' 

"  My  work  has  not  so  far,  I  believe,  suffered  in  any 
respect,"  Iglesias  put  in  quietly.  "  Directly  I  had  reason 
to  fear  it  might  suffer  I " 

"Of  course,  of  course,  I  make  no  complaint — none. 
I  go  further.  I  admit  that  the  area  of  our  undertakings 
is  enlarged,  enormously  enlarged,  thanks  to  the  remark- 

15 


16  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

able  personal  energy  and  strenuous  transatlantic  business 
methods  introduced  by  my  nephew  Reginald.  I  grant  you 
all  that " 

Sir  Abel  cleared  his  throat.  Seduced  by  the  charms 
of  his  own  eloquence,  he  was  ready  to  mount  the  platform 
at  the  shortest  possible  notice,  even  in  private  life.  He 
loved  exposition.  He  loved  periods.  His  critics — for 
what  public  man  is  without  these,  their  strictures  natu- 
rally inspired  by  envy? — had  been  known  to  add  that  he 
also  loved  platitudes.  Be  this  as  it  may,  certain  it  is  that 
he  loved  An  audience — even  of  one.  He  had  been  consid- 
erably ruffled  this  morning  by  communications  made  to 
him  by  his  good-looking  and  somewhat  scapegrace  young- 
est son.  Those  who  fail  to  rule  their  own  households 
often  find  solace  in  attempting  to  rule  the  households  of 
others.  Speech  and  patronage  consequently  tended  to 
the  restoration  of  self-complacency. 

"  No  doubt  this  expansion,  these  modern  methods,  con- 
stitute a  tax  upon  your  capacity,  my  good  friend,  you 
having  acquired  your  training  under  a  less  exacting  sys- 
tem. I  am  not  surprised.  I  confess  " — he  leaned  back 
in  his  chair,  with  an  indulgent  smile,  as  one  who  should 
say,  "  the  gods  themselves  do  not  wholly  escape  " — "  I 
confess,"  he  repeated,  "  it  is  something  of  a  tax  upon  the 
capacity  of  a  veteran  financier  such  as  myself.  But  then 
strain  in  some  form  or  other,  as  I  frequently  remind  my- 
self, is  the  very  master-note  of  our  modern  existence.  We 
all  experience  it  in  our  degree.  And  there  are  those  men, 
such  as  myself,  for  instance,  who  from  their  position,  their 
vast  interests  and  heavy  responsibilities,  from  the  almost 
incalculable  issues  dependent  on  their  judgment  and  their 
action,  are  called  upon  to  endure  this  strain  in  its  most 
exhausting  manifestations,  who  are  compelled  to  subor- 
dinate personal  ease,  even  health  itself,  to  public  obliga- 
tion. In  the  end  they  pay,  incontestably  they  pay,  for 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  17 

their  self-abnegation,  for  their  unswerving  obedience  to 
the  trumpet-call  of  public  duty." 

He  paused  and  mused  a  while,  his  head  raised,  his  right 
hand  resting — it  was  noticeably  podgy  and  squat — on  the 
highly  polished  surface  of  the  extensive  writing-table,  his 
left  hand  dropped,  with  a  rather  awkward  negligence,  over 
the  arm  of  his  chair.  Meanwhile  he  gazed,  as  pensively  as 
his  caste  of  countenance  permitted,  at  a  portrait  of  him- 
self, in  the  self-same  attitude,  which  adorned  the  opposite 
wall.  It  had  been  presented  to  him  by  the  electors  of  his 
late  constituency.  It  was  life-size  and  full-length.  It  had 
been  painted  by  a  well-known  artist  whose  appreciation  of 
the  outward  as  a  revelation  of  the  inward  man  is  slightly 
diabolic  in  its  completeness.  The  portrait  was  very  clever ; 
it  was  also  very  like.  Looking  upon  it  no  sane  observer 
could  stand  in  doubt  of  Sir  Abel's  eminent  respectability 
or  eminent  wealth.  His  appearance  exuded  both.  Un- 
luckily nature  had  been  niggardly  in  the  bestowal  of  those 
more  delicate  marks  of  breeding  which,  both  in  man  and 
beast,  denote  distinction  of  personality  and  antiquity  of 
race.  Pursy,  prolific,  Protestant,  a  commonness  pervaded 
the  worthy  gentleman's  aspect,  causing  him,  as  compared 
with  his  head  clerk,  Dominic  Iglesias — standing  there 
patiently  awaiting  his  further  utterance — to  be  as  is  a 
cheap  oleograph  to  a  fine  sketch  in  pen  and  ink.  It  may 
be  taken  as  an  axiom  that,  in  body  and  soul  alike,  to  be 
deficient  in  outline  is  a  sad  mistake.  But  of  all  these  little 
facts  and  the  result  of  them,  Sir  Abel  was,  needless  to 
relate,  sublimely  ignorant. 

"  With  you,  my  good  friend,  it  is  otherwise,"  he  re- 
marked presently,  reluctantly  removing  his  gaze  from  the 
portrait  of  himself.  "  A  beneficent  Providence  has  de- 
vised the  law  of  compensation.  And  we  may  remark  the 
workings  of  it  everywhere  with  instruction  and  encourage- 
ment. Hence  social  obscurity  has  its  compensating  ad- 


18  THE     FAR    HORIZON 

vantages.  You,  for  example,  are  affected  by  none  of  those 
considerations  of  public  obligation  binding  upon  myself. 
You  are  so  situated  that  you  can  avoid  the  more  trying 
consequences  of  this  universal  overstrain.  If  the  demands 
of  the  position  you  now  fill  are  too  much  for  you,  you  can 
retire.  I  congratulate  you,  Iglesias.  For  some  of  us  it  is 
impossible,  it  is  forbidden  to  retire." 

The  speaker  paused,  as  when  in  addressing  a  political 
or  charitable  meeting  he  paused  for  well-merited  applause, 
secure  of  having  made  a  telling  point.  Dominic  Iglesias, 
however,  had  not  applauded.  To  tell  the  truth,  his  back 
was  stiffening  a  little.  He  had  a  very  just  appreciation 
of  the  relative  social  positions  of  himself  and  his  em- 
ployer; still  it  did  not  occur  to  him,  somehow,  that  ap- 
plause was  necessarily  in  the  part. 

"  You  have  the  redress  in  your  own  hands,"  Sir  Abel 
went  on,  not  without  a  hint  of  annoyance.  "  If  you  need 
amusement,  leisure,  rest,  they  are  all  within  your  reach." 

Still  Iglesias  did  not  speak. 

"  See  now,  my  good  friend,  consider.  To  be  practical  " 
— Sir  Abel  raised  his  finger  and  wagged  it,  with  a  heavy 
attempt  at  bonhomie.  "  You  have  no  family  to  provide 
for?  " 

"  No,"  said  Mr.  Iglesias. 

;'  You  are,  in  short,  not  married?  " 

;<  No,  Sir  Abel,"  he  said  again. 

"Well,  then,  no  obstacle  presents  itself.  But  let  us 
pause  a  moment,  for  I  must  guard  myself  against  mis- 
conception. In  the  interests  of  both  public  and  private 
morality  I  am  a  staunch  advocate  of  marriage."  Again 
he  cleared  his  throat.  The  platform  was  conspicuous  by 
s  presence— in  idea.  "  I  hold  matrimony  to  be  among 
the  primary  duties,  nay,  to  be  the  primary  duty  of  the 
Christian  and  the  citizen.  We  owe  it  to  the  race,  we  owe 
it  to  ourselves,  we  owe  it  to  the  opposite  sex.  Let  us  be 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  19 

quite  clear  on  this  point.  Yet,  since  I  deprecate  all 
bigotry,  I  admit  that  there  may  be  exceptional  cases  in 
which  absence  of  the  marital  relation,  though  arguing 
some  emotional  callousness,  may  prove  advantageous  to 
the  individual." 

A  queer  light  had  come  into  Dominic  Iglesias'  eyes. 
The  corners  of  his  mouth  worked  a  little.  He  stood  quite 
still  and  rather  noticeably  erect. 

"  I  do  not  deny  this,"  Sir  Abel  continued.  "  I  repeat, 
I  .do  not  deny  it.  And  yours,  my  good  friend,  may  be, 
I  am  prepared  to  acknowledge,  a  case  in  point.  I  take 
for  granted,  by  the  way,  that  you  have  saved,  since  your 
salary  has  been  a  liberal  one  ?  " 

Iglesias  inclined  his  head. 

"  Clearly  we  need  discuss  this  matter  no  further  then." 
The  speaker  became  impressive,  admonitory.  "  Indeed,  it 
appears  to  me  that  your  lot  is  a  most  favoured  one.  You 
are  free  of  all  encumbrances.  You  can  retire  in  comfort 
— retire,  moreover,  with  the  assurance  that  your  de- 
parture will  cause  no  inconvenience  to  myself  and  my 
colleagues,  since  you  make  room  for  men  younger  and 
more  in  touch  with  modern  methods  than  yourself." 

Mr.  Iglesias  permitted  himself  to  smile. 

"  Ah,  yes ! "  he  said.  "  Possibly  I  had  not  taken  that 
fact  sufficiently  into  account." 

"  Yet,  clearly,  it  should  augment  your  satisfaction," 
Sir  Abel  Barking  observed,  with  a  touch  of  severity. 
"  And,  by  the  by,  you  can  draw  your  pension.  You 
were  entitled,  strictly  speaking,  to  do  so  some  years  ago 
— four,  I  believe,  to  be  accurate.  This  was  pointed  out 
to  you  at  the  time  by  my  nephew  Reginald.  He  was  not 
at  all  unwilling  that  you  should  retire  then ;  but  you  pre- 
ferred to  remain.  I  had  some  conversation,  at  the  time, 
with  my  nephew  on  the  subject.  I  insisted  upon  the  fact 
that  your  service  had  been  exemplary.  I  finally  succeeded 


20  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

in  overruling  his  objection  to  your  retaining  your 
post." 

"  I  am  evidently  unde*r  a  heavy  obligation  to  you,  Sir 
Abel,"  said  Iglesias. 

"  Don't  mention  it — don't  mention  it,"  the  great  man 
answered  nobly.  "  Those  in  power  should  try  to  exercise 
it  to  the  benefit  of  their  subordinates.  It  has  always  been 
my  effort  not  only  to  be  just,  but  to  be  considerate  of  the 
interests  and  feelings  of  persons  in  my  employment." 

And  with  that  he  again  fixed  his  eyes  upon  the  ironical 
portrait  adorning  the  opposite  wall,  wholly  blind  to  the 
fact  that  it  at  once  revealed  his  weaknesses  and  mocked 
at  them,  conscious  only  of  an  agreeable  conviction  that 
he  had  treated  his  head  clerk  with  generosity  and  spoken 
to  him  with  the  utmost  good-feeling  and  tact. 

With  the  proud  it  is  ever  a  question  whether  to  spoil 
the  Egyptians,  or  to  fling  back  even  the  best-earned  wages, 
payable  by  Egyptians,  full  in  the  said  Egyptians'  face. 
For  the  firm  of  Barking  Brothers  &  Barking,  in  the  ab- 
stract, Iglesias  had  the  loyalty  of  long-established  habit. 
It  had  been  as  the  rising  tide,  setting  the  ship  of  his  fate 
and  fortune  honourably  afloat  in  the  dismal  days  of  that 
early  stranding.  Its  service  had  eaten  up  the  best  years 
of  his  life,  it  is  true.  But,  even  in  so  doing,  by  mere  force 
of  constant  association,  the  interests  of  the  great  banking 
house  had  come  to  be  his  own,  its  schemes  and  secrets  his 
excitement,  its  successes  his  satisfaction.  Fortunately  the 
human  mind  is  so  constituted  that  it  is  possible  to  have  an 
esteem,  amounting  to  enthusiasm,  for  a  body  corporate, 
while  entertaining  but  scanty  admiration  for  the  individ- 
uals of  whom  that  body  is  composed — fortunately  indeed, 
since  otherwise  what  government,  secular  or  sacred,  would 
long  continue  to  subsist?  Hence,  to  Iglesias,  this  matter 
of  the  pension  was  decidedly  difficult.  Pride  said,  "  This 
man  Abel  Barking  has  been  offensive;  both  he  and  his 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  21 

nephew  have  been  ungrateful;  reject  it  with  contempt." 
Justice  said,  "  You  have  no  quarrel  with  the  firm  as  a 
whole;  accept  it."  Common  sense,  pricked  up  by  anger, 
said,  "  Claim  your  own,  take  every  brass  farthing  of  it." 
While  personal  dignity,  winding  up  the  case,  admonished, 
"  By  no  means  give  yourself  away.  Make  no  impetu- 
ous demonstration.  Go  home  and  think  it  quietly  over." 
And  with  the  advice  of  personal  dignity  Mr.  Iglesias 
fell  in. 

Yet  he  was  still  very  sore,  the  heat  of  anger  past,  but 
the  smart  of  it  remaining,  when  he  journeyed  back  from 
the  city  later  in  the  day.  And  not  only  that  after-smart, 
but  a  perplexity  held  him.  For  two  strange  faces  had 
looked  into  his  during  the  last  few  hours — those  of  Lone- 
liness and  Freedom.  He  had  taken  for  granted,  in  a 
general  sort  of  way,  that  such  personages  existed  and 
exercised  a  certain  jurisdiction  in  human  affairs.  But  in 
all  the  course  of  his  laborious  life  they  had  never  before 
come  close,  personally  claiming  him.  He  had  had  no  time 
for  them.  But  they  are  patient,  they  only  wait.  They 
had  time  for  him — plenty  of  it.  Suddenly  he  understood 
that;  and  it  perplexed  him,  for  his  estimate  of  his  own 
importance  was  modest.  He  even  felt  apologetic  towards 
them,  as  one  at  whose  door  distinguished  guests  alight  for 
whose  entertainment  he  has  made  no  adequate  provision. 
He  was  embarrassed,  his  sense  of  hospitality  reproaching 
him. 

It  so  happened  that,  on  this  same  return  journey,  he 
occupied  the  seat  on  the  right,  immediately  behind  that  of 
the  driver.  The  sky  was  covered,  the  atmosphere  close. 
The  horses,  grey  ones,  showed  a  thick  yellowish  lather 
where  the  collar  rubbed  their  necks  and  the  traces  their 
flanks.  They  were  slack  and  heavy,  and  the  omnibus 
hugged  the  curb.  Within  it  was  empty,  and  on  the  top 
boasted  but  three  passengers  besides  Iglesias  himself.  It 


22  THE    FAR    HORIZON 

followed  that,  carrying  insufficiency  of  ballast,  the  great 
red-painted  vehicle  lumbered,  and  jerked,  and  swayed  un- 
easily ;  while  the  lighter  traffic  swept  past  it  in  a  glittering 
stream,  the  dominant  note  of  which  was  black  as  against 
the  dirty  drab  of  the  recently  watered  wood-pavement. 
And  the  character  of  that  traffic  was  new  to  Dominic 
Iglesias,  though  he  had  travelled  the  Hammersmith  Road, 
Kensington  High  Street  and  Kensington  Gore,  Knights- 
bridge  and  Piccadilly,  back  and  forth  daily,  these  many 
years.  For  the  exigencies  of  business  demanding  that  the 
hours  of  his  journeying  should  be  early  and  late,  always 
the  same,  it  came  about  that  the  aspect  of  these  actually 
so-familiar  thoroughfares  was  novel,  as  beheld  in  the 
height  of  the  season  at  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon. 

At  first  Iglesias  saw  without  seeing,  busy  with  his  own 
uncheerful  thoughts.  But  after  a  while  he  began  to  spec- 
ulate idly  on  the  scene  around  him,  turning  to  the  outward 
and  material  for  distraction,  if  not  for  actual  comfort. 
And  so  the  stream  of  carriages  and  hansoms,  and  the  con- 
spicuously well-favoured  human  beings  occupying  them, 
began  to  intrigue  his  attention.  He  questioned  whom  they 
might  be  and  whither  wending,  decked  forth  in  such  brave 
array.  They  seemed  to  suggest  something  divorced  from, 
yet  native  to,  his  experience;  something  he  had  never 
touched  in  fact,  yet  the  right  to  which  was  resident  in  his 
blood.  And  with  this  he  ceased,  in  instinct,  to  be  merely 
the  highly  respected  and  respectable  head  clerk  of  Messrs. 
Barking  Brothers  &  Barking — now  superannuated  and 
laid  on  the  shelf.  A  gayer,  fiercer,  simpler  life,  quick  with 
violences  of  vivacious  sound  and  vivid  colour,  the  excite- 
ment of  it  heightened  by  clear  shining  southern  sunshine 
and  blue-black  shadow — a  life  undreamed  of  by  conven- 
tional, slow-moving,  rather  vulgar  middle-class  London — 
to  which,  on  the  face  of  it,  he  appeared  as  emphatically  to 
belong — awoke  and  cried  in  Dominic  Iglesias, 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  S3 

It  was  a  surprising  little  experience,  causing  him  to 
straighten  up  his  lean  yet  shapely  figure ;  while  the  burden 
of  his  years,  and  the  long  monotony  of  them,  seemed 
strangely  lifted  off  him.  Then,  with  the  air  of  courtly 
reserve — at  once  the  joke  and  envy  of  the  younger  clerks, 
which  had  earned  him  the  nickname  of  "  the  old  Hidalgo  " 
— he  leaned  forward  and  addressed  the  omnibus  driver. 
The  latter  upraised  a  broad,  moist  and  sleepy  countenance. 

*5  Polo  at  Ranelagh,"  he  answered,  in  a  voice  thickened 
by  dust  and  the  laying  of  that  dust  by  strong  waters. 
"  Club  team  plays  ?Undred  and  First  Lancers." 

The  words  had  been  to  the  inquirer  pretty  much  as 
phrases  from  the  liturgy  of  an  unknown  cult.  But  it  was 
Iglesias'  praiseworthy  disposition  not  to  be  angry  with 
that  which  he  did  not  happen  to  understand,  so  much  as 
angry  with  himself  for  not  understanding  it. 

"  Only  an  additional  proof,  were  it  needed,  of  the 
prodigious  extent  of  my  ignorance ! "  he  reflected  in 
stoically  humorous  self-contempt.  His  eyes  dwelt,  some- 
what wistfully,  on  the  glittering  stream  of  traffic,  once 
again  those  two  unbidden  guests,  Loneliness  and  Freedom 
— for  whose  entertainment  he  had  made  inadequate  pro- 
vision— sitting,  as  it  seemed,  very  close  on  either  side  of 
him.  Then  that  happened  which  altered  all  the  values. 
Dominic  Iglesias  suddenly  saw  a  person  whom  he  knew. 

He  had  seen  that  same  person  about  three  hours  pre- 
viously in  the  bank  in  Threadneedle  Street,  while  waiting 
for  admittance  to  Sir  Abel's  private  room.  Rumour 
accredited  this  handsome  young  gentleman — Sir  Abel's 
youngest  son — with  tastes  expensive  rather  than  profit- 
able, liberal  socially,  rather  than  estimable  ethically,  de- 
claring him  to  be  distinctly  of  the  nature  of  the  proverbial 
thorn  in  the  banker's  otherwise  very  prosperous  side.  He 
had,  so  said  rumour,  the  fortune  or  misfortune,  as  you 
chose  to  take  it,  of  being  at  once  a  considerably  bad  boy 


24  THE     FAR    HORIZON 

and  a  distinctly  charming  one.  Be  all  that  as  it  might, 
the  young  man  had  certainly  presented  a  grimly  anxious 
countenance  when,  without  so  much  as  a  nod  of  recogni- 
tion, he  had  stalked  past  Mr.  Iglesias  in  the  dim  light  of 
the  glass  and  mahogany-walled  corridor.  But  now,  as 
the  latter  noted,  his  expression  had  changed,  and  that  very 
much  for  the  better.  The  young  man's  face  was  flushed 
and  eager,  and  his  teeth  showed  white  and  even  under  his 
reddish  brown  moustache.  If  anxieties  still  pursued  him 
they  were  in  subjection  to  one  main  anxiety,  the  anxiety 
to  please,  which  of  all  anxieties  is  the  most  engaging  and 
grace-begetting. 

Just  then  the  traffic  was  held  up,  thus  enabling 
Iglesias  from  his  perch  on  the  'bustop  to  receive  a  more 
than  fleeting  impression.  Two  ladies  were  seated  op- 
posite the  young  man  in  the  carriage.  In  them  Iglesias 
recognised  persons  of  very  secure  social  standing.  The 
elder  he  supposed  to  be  Lady  Sokeington — Alaric  Bark- 
ing's half-sister — to  whom,  on  the  occasion  of  her  mar- 
riage, twelve  or  thirteen  years  ago,  he  had  had  the  expen- 
sive honour  of  presenting,  in  his  own  name  and  that  of 
his  colleagues,  a  costly  gift  of  plate.  The  Other  lady,  so 
it  appeared  to  him,  was  eminently  sweet  to  look  upon.  She 
was  very  young.  She  leaned  a  little  forward,  and  in  the 
pose  of  her  delicate  figure  and  the  carriage  of  her  pretty 
head— under  its  burden  of  pale  pink  and  grey  feathers, 
flowers,  and  lace— he  detected  further  example  of  that 
engaging  anxiety  to  please.  They  made  a  delightful 
young  couple,  the  fair  seeming  of  this  life  and  riches  of  it 
very  much  on  their  side.  Mr.  Iglesias'  chivalrous  heart 
went  out  to  them  in  silent  sympathy  and  benediction; 
while,  the  block  being  over,  his  gaze  continued  to  follow 
them  as  long  as  the  young  girl's  slender  white-clad  back 
and  the  young  man's  flushed  and  eager  face  remained  dis- 
tinguishable. Then  he  started,  for  he  was  aware  that  his 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  25 

unbidden  companions  had  received  unexpected  reinforce- 
ment. A  third  guest  had  arrived,  and  looked  hard  and 
critically  at  him.  Its  name  was  Old  Age,  and  he  found 
something  sardonic  in  its  glance.  With  all  his  gentleness 
of  soul,  all  his  innate  self-restraint,  there  remained  fight- 
ing blood  in  Dominic  Iglesias.  Therefore,  for  the  moment, 
recognising  with  whom  he  had  to  deal,  a  light  anything 
but  mild  visited  his  eyes,  and  a  rigidity  the  straight  lines 
of  his  chin  and  lips.  Old  Age  is  a  sinister  visitant  even  to 
those  who  are  moderate  in  demand  and  clean  of  life.  For 
it  gives  to  drink  of  the  cup  not  of  pleasure,  but  merely  of 
patience,  of  physical  loss  and  intellectual  humiliation ;  and, 
once  it  has  laid  its  spell  upon  you,  you  are  past  all  remedy 
save  the  supreme  remedy  of  death.  And  so,  at  first  sight, 
Iglesias  rebelled — as  do  all  men — turning  defiant.  Then, 
being  very  sane,  he  gave  in  to  the  relentless  logic  of  fact. 
Silently,  yet  with  all  courtesy,  he  acknowledged  the  new- 
comer, and  bade  it  be  seated  along  with  the  rest.  While, 
after  brief  pause  to  rally  his  pride,  and  that  courage 
which  is  the  noblest  attribute  of  pride,  he  turned  to  things 
concrete  and  material  once  more,  finally  addressing  him- 
self to  the  omnibus  driver: 

"  Pardon  me ;  polo,  as  I  understand,  is  a  species  of 
game  ?  " 

The  broad  moist  countenance  was  again  uplifted,  a  hint 
of  patronage  now  tempering  its  good-natured  apathy. 

"  Sort'er  'ockey  on  'orseback." 

"  That  must  be  sufficiently  dangerous,"  Mr.  Iglesias 
remarked. 

"  Bless  you,  yes.  Players  breaks  their  backs  pretty 
frequent,  and  cuts  the  ponies  about  most  cruel " 

He  ceased  speaking  abruptly,  jammed  the  brake  down 
with  his  heel  in  response  to  the  conductor's  bell,  and  drew 
the  sweating  horses  up  short  to  permit  the  ingress  of  fresh 
passengers.  This  accomplished,  the  omnibus  lumbered 


26  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

onwards  while  Dominic  Iglesias  fell  into  further  medita- 
tion. 

The  explanation  vouchsafed  him  was  still  far  from  ex- 
plicit; yet  this  much  of  illumination  he  gained  from  it, 
namely,  the  assurance  that  all  these  goodly  personages, 
Alaric  Barking  and  his  sweet  companion  among  them, 
were  on  pleasure  bent.  One  and  all  they  fared  forth,  on 
this  heavy  summer  afternoon,  in  search  of  amusement — in 
search  of  that  intangible  yet  very  powerful  factor  in 
human  affairs  to  which  it  is  given  to  lift  the  too  great 
weight  of  seriousness  from  mortal  life,  cheating  percep- 
tion of  relentless  actualities,  helping  to  restore  the  bal- 
ance, helping  men  to  hope,  to  laugh,  and  to  forget.  Per- 
ceiving all  which,  conscious  moreover  of  the  near  neigh- 
bourhood of  Loneliness  on  the  right  hand  and  Old  Age  on 
the  left,  Iglesias  began  to  bestow  on  these  votaries  of 
pleasure  a  more  earnest  attention,  recognising  in  them 
the  possessors  of  a  secret  which  it  greatly  behoved  him  to 
enter  into  possession  of  likewise.  In  what,  he  asked  him- 
self, did  it  actually  consist,  this  to  him  practically  un- 
known quantity,  amusement?  How  was  the  spirit  of  it 
cultivated,  the  enjoyment  of  it  consciously  attained?  How 
far  did  it  reside  in  inward  attitude,  how  far  in  outward 
circumstance?  In  a  word,  how  did  they  all  do  it?  It  was 
very  incumbent  upon  him  to  learn,  and  he  admitted  a 
ridiculous  ignorance. 


CHAPTER  III 

THUS  had  the  chapter  of  labour  ended,  and  that  of  leisure 
opened.  And  it  was  with  the  sadness  of  things  terminated 
very  strongly  upon  him  that,  as  Frederick,  the  German- 
Swiss  valet,  finished  clearing  the  dinner-table  and  de- 
parted, Mr.  Iglesias  looked  forth  over  the  neatly  protected 
verdure  of  Trimmer's  Green  in  the  evening  quiet.  The 
smugly  pacific  aspect  of  the  place  irritated  him.  He  was 
aware  of  a  great  emptiness.  And  very  certainly  the  scene 
before  him  offered  no  solution  of  the  problem  of  the  filling 
of  that  emptiness.  And  somehow  or  other  it  had  to  be 
filled — Iglesias  knew  that,  knew  it  through  every  fibre  of 
him — or  life  would  be  simply  insupportable.  Meanwhile 
from  the  public  drawing-room  below  came  sounds  of 
revelry,  innocent  enough  yet  hardly  calculated  to  soothe 
over-strained  nerves.  Little  Mr.  Farge — whose  thin  and 
reedy  tenor  carried  as  does  a  penny  whistle — gave  forth 
the  refrain  of  a  song  just  then  popular  in  metropolitan 
music-halls. 

"  They're  keeping  latish  hours  at  the  Convalescent 
Home,"  piped  Mr.  Farge;  while  his  friend  and  devout 
admirer,  Albert  Edward  Worthington,  tore  at  the  banjo 
strings  and  the  ladies  tittered. 

Iglesias  listened  in  a  somewhat  grim  spirit  of  endurance. 
On  the  far  side  of  the  Green  he  could  see  the  gaslights  in 
the  Lovegroves'  dining-room.  These  appeared  to  watch 
him  rather  uncomfortably,  as  with  three  supplicating  and 
reproachful  eyes.  He  debated  whether  he  would  not  take 
his  hat,  step  across,  and  tell  his  old  friend  what  had  hap- 
pened— it  would  at  least  relieve  him  of  the  sound  of  little 
Farge's  serenading.  But  his  pride  recoiled  somehow. 

27 


28  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

Good  souls,  man  and  wife,  they  would  be  full  of  solicitude 
and  kindness ;  but  they  would  say  the  wrong  thing.  They 
would  not  understand.  How,  indeed,  should  they,  being 
wholly  at  one  with  their  surroundings — unimaginative, 
domestic,  British  middle-class,  with  its  virtues  and  limita- 
tions aggressively  in  evidence?  George  Lovegrove  would 
suggest  some  minor  municipal  office,  or  membership  of  the 
local  borough  council,  as  a  crown  of  consolation.  His 
wife  would  skirt  round  the  subject  of  matrimony.  She 
had  done  so  before  now;  and  Iglesias,  while  presenting  a 
dignified  front  to  the  enemy,  had  inwardly  shuddered. 
She  was  an  excellent,  estimable  woman;  but  when  ponder- 
ously arch,  when  extensively  sly !  Oh,  dear  no !  It  didn't 
do.  Her  gambols  were  too  sadly  suggestive  of  those  of  a 
skittish  hippopotamus.  Dominic  Iglesias  was  conscious 
that  he  had  a  skin  too  little  to-night ;  he  could  not  witness 
them  with  philosophy.  The  kindliest  intention,  the  best- 
meant  words,  might  cause  him  extravagant  annoyance. 

He  turned  away  from  the  window  and  took  a  turn  the 
length  of  the  room — a  tall,  distinct,  and  even  stately  fig- 
ure in  the  thickening  dusk.  He  felt  rather  horribly  deso- 
late. He  was  fairly  frightened  by  the  greatness  of  the 
emptiness,  within  and  about  him,  engendered  by  absence 
of  employment.  He  had  little  to  reproach  himself  with. 
His  record  was  cleaner  than  most  men's — he  could  not  but 
know  that.  He  had  sacrificed  personal  ambition,  personal 
happiness,  to  the  service  of  one  supremely  dear  to  him. 
Not  for  a  moment  did  he  regret  it.  Had  it  to  be  done  all 
over  again,  without  hesitation  he  would  do  it.  Still  there 
was  no  blinking  facts.  Here  was  the  nemesis,  not  of  ill 
living,  but  of  good — namely,  emptiness,  loneliness,  home- 
lessness,  Old  Age  here  at  his  elbow,  Death  waiting  there 
ahead. 

'  The  routine  has  gone  on  too  long,"  he  said  to  him- 
self bitterly.     «  I  have  lost  my  pliability,  lost  my  human- 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  29 

ity.  I  am  a  machine  now,  not  a  man.  To  the  machine, 
work  is  life.  Work  over,  life  is  over ;  and  the  machine  is 
just  so  much  lumber — better  broken  up  and  sent  to  the 
rag  and  bottle  shop,  where  it  may  fetch  the  worth  of  its 
weight  as  scrap-iron." 

He  turned,  came  back  to  the  open  window  again  and 
stood  there,  rather  carefully  avoiding  the  three  reproach- 
ful eyes  of  the  Lovegroves'  dining-room  gaselier,  and 
fixing  his  gaze  on  that  sullen  fierceness  of  sunset  still 
hanging  in  the  extreme  northwest. 

"  Unluckily  there  is  no  rag  and  bottle  shop  where  super- 
annuated bank  clerks  of  five-and-fifty  have  even  the  very 
modest  market  value  of  scrap-iron ! "  he  went  on.  "  Of 
all  kinds  of  uselessness,  that  of  we  godlike  human  beings 
is  the  most  utterly  obvious  when  our  working  day  is  past. 
Mental  decay  and  bodily  corruption  is  the  ultimate.  And, 
this  side  of  it,  a  few  years  of  increasing  degradation,  a 
mere  senseless  killing  of  time  until  the  very  unpleasing 
goal  is  reached — along  with  a  growing  selfishness,  and 
narrowness  of  outlook ;  along,  possibly,  with  some  develop- 
ment of  senile  sensuality,  the  more  detestable  because  it 
lacks  the  provocations  of  hot  blood.  Oh !  Dominic 
Iglesias,  Dominic  Iglesias,  is  that  the  ugly  road  you  are 
doomed  to  travel — a  toothless  greed  for  filling  your  belly 
with  fly-blown  dainties  off  the  refuse-heap  ?  " 

And  through  the  open  window,  in  sinister  accompani- 
ment to  little  Mr.  Farge's  sophisticated  and  unpastoral 
pipings,  came  the  voice  of  the  great  city  herself  in  answer 
— low,  multitudinous,  raucous,  without  emphasis  but  with- 
out briefest  relief  of  interval  or  of  pause.  And  this  laid 
hold  strongly  of  Iglesias'  imagination,  reminding  him  of 
all  the  intimate  wretchedness  of  that  first  stranding  of 
the  ship  of  his  fate.  Reminding  him  of  his  long  and  fruit- 
less trampings  in  search  of  employment — good  looks, 
energy,  youth  itself,  seeming  but  an  added  handicap — 


80  THE    FAR    HORIZON 

when  London  revealed  herself  to  him  in  her  solidarity, 
revealed  herself  as  a  prodigious  living  creature,  awful  in 
her  mysterious  vigour,  ever  big  with  impending  birth, 
merciless  with  impending  death.  As  she  showed  herself 
to  him  then,  with  life  all  untried  before  him,  so  she  showed 
herself  still  when,  in  the  blackness  of  his  present  humour, 
all  life  worth  the  name  appeared  over  and  passed.  He  had 
changed,  so  he  believed,  to  the  point  of  nullity  and  final 
ineptitude.  She  remained  strong,  active,  relentless  as 
ever.  As  long  ago,  so  now,  she  struck  him  as  monstrous. 
Yet  now,  though  all  the  conditions  were  changed,  he 
had,  as  long  ago,  an  instinct  that  from  her  there  was 
no  escape. 

"  I  have  served  you  honestly  enough  all  these  years," 
he  said — since  she  had  voice  to  speak,  she  had  also  ears 
to  hear,  mayhap — "  and  you  have  taken  much  and  given 
little.  To-day  you  have  turned  me  off,  told  me  to  quit. 
But  where,  I  ask  you,  can  I  go?  I  am  too  stiffened  by 
work,  unskilled  in  travel,  too  unadaptable  to  begin  again 
elsewhere.  Moreover,  you  hold  the  record  of  my  experi- 
ence, all  my  glad  and  sorrowful  memories.  I  might  try 
to  leave  you,  but  it's  no  use.  I  am  planted  and  rooted  in 
you,  monstrous  mother  that  you  are.  If  I  know  myself, 
I  should  go  only  to  come  back." 

For  the  moment  the  calm  of  long  self-control  was 
broken  up  within  him.  Dominic  Iglesias  dwelt,  consciously 
and  sensibly,  in  the  horror  of  the  Outer  Darkness — which 
horror  is  known  only  to  that  small  and  somewhat  suspect 
minority  of  human  beings  who  are  also  capable,  by  the 
operation  of  the  divine  mercy,  of  dwelling  in  the  glory  of 
the  Uncreated  Light.  The  swing  of  the  pendulum  is  equal 
to  right  as  to  left.  He  was  staggered  by  the  misery  of 
his  own  isolation — a  stranger,  as  he  suddenly  realised,  by 
temperament  and  ideals,  as  well  as  by  race!  Then  res- 
olutely he  turned  his  back  on  this,  with  an  instinct  of  self- 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  81 

preservation   directing  his   thought   to   things   practical 
and  average'. 

For  example,  that  question  of  the  pension — concerning 
which  he  now  found,  to  his  slight  surprise,  he  was  no 
longer  the  least  in  doubt.  This  money  was  his  by  right. 
The  hard  strain  in  his  nature  was  dominant — to  the  full 
he  would  claim  his  rights.  And  since  in  moments  of  de- 
spair the  human  mind  invariably  requires  a  human  victim, 
be  it  merely  a  simulacrum,  a  waxen  image  of  a  man  to  melt 
in  the  fires  of  its  humiliation  and  revolt,  Iglesias  remem- 
bered, with  much  contemptuous  satisfaction,  the  ironical 
portrait  of  Sir  Abel  Barking  adorning  the  wall  of  the 
latter's  private  room  at  the  bank.  He  hailed  the  diabolic 
talent  of  the  artist  who  had  laid  bare  with  such  subtle  skill 
the  fatuity  of  his  sitter.  It  was  a  pretty  revenge,  very 
assuaging  just  now  to  Iglesias.  For  the  real  man,  as  he 
reflected,  was  not  the  man  who  sat  heavily  self-complacent 
in  a  library  chair,  exuding  platitudes  and  pride  of  patron- 
age; but  the  man  who  hung  upon  the  wall  forever  ridic- 
ulous while  paint  and  canvas  should  last.  Thus  would  he 
go  down  to  posterity!  And  to  Dominic  Iglesias,  just  now, 
it  seemed  very  excellent  that  posterity  should  know  him 
for  the  wind-bag  hypocrite  he  essentially  was.  Securely 
entrenched  behind  his  own  large  prosperity,  uxorious- 
ness,  paternity,  had  he  not  counted  his,  Iglesias',  blessings 
to  him ;  counselling  amusement,  rest,  congratulating  him 
on  just  all  that  which  made  for  his  present  distress — 
namely,  his  obscure  position,  his  enforced  idleness,  his 
absence  of  human  ties,  the  general  meagreness  of  his 
state  in  life?  The  more  he  thought  of  the  incident,  the 
more  it  filled  him  with  indignation  and  disgust.  There- 
fore, very  certainly  he  would  claim  his  pension;  claim  an 
infinitesimal  but  actual  fraction  of  this  man's  great  wealth ; 
would  live  long  so  as  to  claim  it  as  long  as  possible,  till  the 
paying  of  it,  indeed,  should  become  a  weariness  to  the 


32  THE    FAR    HORIZON 

payer.  And  he  would  spend  it,  too,  unquestionably  he 
would.  Mr.  Iglesias*  rare  and  gracious  smile  had  an  al- 
most cruel  edge  to  it. 

"  The  machine  shall  become  a  man  again,"  he  said. 
"And  the  man  shall  amuse  himself.  How,  I  don't  yet 
know,  but  I  will  find  out.  Work  has  made  me  dull  and 
inept." 

He  straightened  himself  up,  tired,  yet  unbroken,  de- 
fiant, aware — though  the  horror  of  the  Outer  Darkness 
was  yet  upon  him — of  purpose  still  militant  and  unspent. 

"  Play  may  make  me  the  reverse  of  dull  and  inept.  I 
have  always  been  diligent  and  methodical.  I  will  continue 
to  be  so.  This  enterprise  admits  of  no  delay.  I  will  begin 
at  once,  begin  to-morrow,  to  amuse  myself." 

It  is  characteristic  of  the  Latin  to  see  things  written 
in  fire  and  blood,  which  the  slower-brained  Anglo-Saxon 
only  sees  written  in  red  paint — if,  indeed,  he  ever  arrives 
at  seeing  them  written  at  all.  To-night  the  Latin  held 
absolute  sway  in  Dominic  Iglesias.  With  freedom  had 
come  a  curious  reversion  to  type.  His  humour,  like  his 
smile,  was  a  trifle  cruel.  He  observed,  criticised,  judged, 
condemned  unsparingly,  all  mental  courtesies  in  abeyance. 
When,  therefore,  at  this  juncture  the  three  eyes  of  the 
Lovegpoves'  dining-room  gaselier  winked  slowly,  and 
closed  their  lids — so  to  speak — ceasing  to  watch  and  to 
supplicate,  he  suffered  no  self-reproach.  The  good,  simple 
couple  were  shutting  up  house  and  going  to  bed,  he  sup- 
posed. They  sought  repose  betimes;  and,  unless  supper 
had  been  more  aggressively  cold  and  heavy  than  usual, 
slept,  till  broad  day,  a  dreamless  sleep.  Decidedly  it  was 
well  he  had  not  taken  his  hat  and  stepped  across  to  visit 
them,  for,  beyond  all  question,  they  would  not  have  under- 
stood !  The  voice  of  London,  for  instance,  meant  nothing 
to  them.  They  had  no  notion  London  had  a  voice.  Still 
less  had  they  any  notion  she  was  a  prodigious  living  crea- 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  33 

ture.  London  was  the  place  where  they  resided — that  was 
all,  and,  since  the  streets  are  admittedly  noisy  and  dusty, 
they  had  taken  a  house  in  this  genteel  and  convenient 
suburb.  Of  the  tremendous  life  and  force  of  things,  mis- 
called man-made  and  inanimate,  they  had  no  faintest  con- 
ception. Small  wonder  they  went  to  bed  betimes  and  slept 
a  dreamless  sleep!  Thinking  of  which — notwithstanding 
their  kindness  and  affection — they  became,  just  now,  to 
Iglesias  as  truly  astonishing  phenomena  in  their  line  as 
Sir  Abel  Barking  in  his.  He  saw  in  them  merely  speci- 
mens, though  good  ones,  of  the  great  majority  of  the 
British  public,  a  public  so  overlaid  and  permeated  by  con- 
vention, so  parochial  in  outlook,  so  hidebound  by  social 
tradition  and  insular  prejudice,  that  it  is  really  less  in 
touch  with  everlasting  fact  than  the  animals  it  pets,  de- 
moralises, and  eats.  These  at  least  have  instinct,  and  so 
are  at  one  with  universal  nature.  In  perception,  in  spon- 
taneity of  action,  good  Mrs.  Lovegrove  was  as  an  infant 
compared  to  her  parrot  or  her  pug.  So  was  little  Mr. 
Farge  with  his  sophisticated  warblings — so,  for  that  mat- 
ter, were  all  the  other  persons  among  whom  his,  Iglesias', 
lot  was  cast.  His  sense  of  isolation  deepened.  If  amuse- 
ment was  his  object,  most  certainly  the  society  of  Trim- 
mer's Green  would  not  supply  it.  He  must  look  further 
afield  for  all  that. 

In  the  far  northwest  the  last  of  the  sunset  had  faded; 
only  the  cloud  remained.  Yet  the  horizon,  above  the 
broken  line  of  the  house-roofs  and  chimney-pots,  pulsed 
with  light — the  very  earthly  light  which,  in  great  cities, 
flares  out  when  the  light  of  heaven  dies,  to  walk  the  streets, 
with  much  else  of  doubtful  loveliness,  till  it  is  shamed  by 
the  cold  chastity  of  dawn.  And  along  with  that  outflar- 
ing,  a  certain  meretricious  element  introduced  itself  into 
the  aspect  of  Trimmer's  Green.  Across  the  roadway,  the 
gaslamps  showed  cones  of  vivid  yet  sickly  brightness, 


34  THE     FAR    HORIZON 

bringing  at  regular  intervals  the  sharply  indented  leaves 
of  the  plane  trees  and  the  shivering  silver  of  the  balsam- 
poplars  into  an  arresting  and  artificial  distinctness. 
Between  were  spaces  of  vacancy  and  gloom.  And  from 
out  such  a  space,  immediately  opposite,  slowly  emerged  a 
shambling  and  ungainly  figure,  in  which  Dominic  Iglesias 
recognised  the  third  of  his  fellow-lodgers,  Mr.  de  Courcy 
Smyth.  His  acquaintance  with  the  said  lodger  was  of  the 
slightest,  since  the  latter  had  but  recently  entered  into 
residence  and  rarely  appeared  at  meals.  Mrs.  Porcher 
habitually  referred  to  him  with  a  pitying  respect  as  "  a 
gentleman  very  influential  in  literary  and  professional 
circles,  but  unfortunate  in  his  married  life  " ;  ending  with 
a  sigh  and  upward  glance  of  her  still  fine  eyes,  as  one 
who  could  sympathise,  having  herself  been  through  that 
gate.  Influential  or  not,  it  occurred  to  Iglesias  that  the 
man  presented  a  sorry  spectacle  enough.  For  a  minute  or 
so  he  stood  aimlessly  in  the  full  glare  of  a  gaslamp.  His 
thin,  creasy  Inverness  cape  was  thrown  back,  displaying 
evening  dress.  He  carried  a  soft  grey  felt  hat  in  one 
hand.  His  whole  aspect  was  seedy,  disappointed,  dejected ; 
his  face  pale  and  puffy,  his  sparse  reddish  hair  and  beard 
but  indifferently  trimmed.  It  was  borne  in  upon  Iglesias, 
moreover,  that  the  man  was  hungry,  that  he  had  not — 
and  that  for  some  time — had  enough  to  eat.  Voluntary 
poverty  is  among  the  most  beautiful,  involuntary  poverty 
among  the  ugliest,  sights  upon  earth ;  and  to  which  order 
of  poverty  that  of  de  Courcy  Smyth  belonged,  Mr. 
Iglesias  was  in  no  doubt.  This  was  a  sordid  sight,  a  sight 
of  discouragement,  adding  the  last  touch  to  the  melan- 
choly which  oppressed  him.  The  seedy  figure  crossed  the 
road,  fumbled  for  a  minute  with  a  latchkey.  Then  nerve- 
less footsteps  ascended  the  stairs,  passed  the  door,  and 
took  their  joyless  way  up  and  onward  to  the  bed-sitting- 
room  immediately  above. 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  35 

Down  below  the  music  had  ceased,  while  sounds  arose 
suggestive  of  a  little  playfulness  on  the  part  of  the  two 
young  men  in  bidding  their  hostess  and  Miss  Eliza  Hart 
good-night.  Very  soon  the  house  became  silent.  But 
Dominic  Iglesias,  though  tired,  was  in  no  humour  for 
sleep.  He  drew  forward  a  leather-covered  armchair  and 
sat  near  the  open  window,  in  at  which  came  a  breathing  of 
night  wind.  This  was  soothing,  touching  his  forehead  as 
with  delicate  pressure  of  a  cool  and  sympathetic  hand ;  so 
that,  without  any  sense  of  surprising  transition,  he  found 
himself  in  the  garden  of  the  little  house  in  Holland  Street, 
Kensington,  once  again.  The  laburnum  was  in  full  blos- 
som, and  the  breeze  uplifted  the  light  drooping  branches 
of  it,  making  all  their  golden  glory  dance  in  the  sunshine. 
There  must  have  been  rain  in  the  night,  too,  for  the  stone 
basin  was  full  of  water,  in  which  the  sparrows  were  busy 
washing,  sending  up  tiny  iridescent  jets  and  fountains 
from  their  swiftly  fluttering  wings.  It  was  delicious  to 
Dominic.  He  felt  very  safe,  very  gay.  Only  a  heavy  ill- 
favoured  tabby  cat  came  from  nowhere.  It  had  designs 
upon  the  sparrows.  Twice  it  climbed  stealthily  up  the 
broken  bricks  and  gas  clinkers.  Twice  the  little  boy  drove 
it  away.  It  was  not  a  nice  cat.  It  had  a  broad  white  face, 
deceitful  little  eyes,  and  grey  whiskers.  It  declared  it  only 
caught  sparrows  for  their  good  and  for  the  good  of  the 
community.  It  assured  Dominic  he  was  guilty  of  a  grave 
error  of  judgment  in  attempting  to  interfere.  It  said 
a  great  deal  about  moral  responsibility  and  the  heavy 
obligations  persons  of  wealth  and  position  owe  to  them- 
selves. 

Just  then  Pascal  Pelletier,  carrying  a  square  Huntley 
&  Palmer's  biscuit  tin,  containing  an  infernal  machine, 
under  his  arm,  his  angelic  countenance  radiant  in  the  sun- 
shine, came  down  the  steps  from  the  dining-room  window. 
And,  while  Dominic  ran  to  greet  him,  the  cat  crept  back 


36  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

again — its  face  was  the  face  of  Sir  Abel  Barking,  and  it 
made  a  spring  at  the  sparrows.  But  the  pillar  broke  and 
the  basin  toppled  over,  pinning  it,  across  the  loins,  down 
on  to  the  clinkers  under  the  edge  of  the  stone  lip. 

"Oh!  you've  spoilt  my  garden,  you've  spoilt  my  gar- 
den ! "  Dominic  cried.  "  The  basin  has  fallen.  The  spar- 
rows will  never  wash  in  it  any  more." 

But  Pascal  Pelletier  patted  him  on  the  head  tenderly. 

"Do  not  weep  over  the  fallen  basin,  very  dear  one," 
he  said.  "  Rather  sing  aloud  Te  Deum  in  praise  of  the 
glorious  goddess  of  Social  Revolution  who  has  delivered 
the  enemy  of  the  people  into  our  hands.  This  is  no  affair 
of  cat  and  bird,  but  of  the  capitalist  and  the  proletariat 
on  which  he  battens.  So  for  a  little  space  let  the  unholy 
creature  lie  there  writhing.  Let  it  understand  what  it  is 
to  have  a  back  broken  by  the  weight  of  an  impossible 
burden.  Let  it  try  vainly  to  drag  its  limbs  from  beneath 
an  immovable  load.  Observe  it,  let  it  suffer.  Very  soon 
we  will  finish  with  it,  and  explode  the  iniquitous  system  it 
represents.  See,  in  the  name  of  humanity,  of  labour,  of 
the  unknown  and  unnumbered  millions  of  the  martyred 
poor,  I  set  a  match  to  this  good  little  fuse,  and,  with  the 
rapidity  of  thought,  blow  blasphemous  tyrant  Capital  into 
a  thousand  fragments  of  reeking  flesh  and  splintered 
bone!" 

But  to  the  little  boy,  words  and  spectacle  alike  had  be- 
come unendurably  painful. 

'  No,  no,  Pascal,  you  cannot  cure  everything  that  way. 
It  is  not  just,"  he  cried.  And  running  forward  with  all 
his  strength  he  lifted  the  stone  basin  off  the  wounded 
creature — cat,  man,  beast  of  prey,  modern  financier,  be  it 
what  it  might.  He  stooped  to  gather  it  up  in  his  arms, 
and,  repulsive  though  it  was,  to  comfort  and  protect  it. 
But  just  then  came  a  thunderous  rattle  and  crash  knock- 
ing him  senseless. 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  37 

Mr.  Iglesias  sat  bolt  upright  in  his  chair,  uncertain  of 
his  identity  and  surroundings,  shaken  and  bewildered. 

Upstairs,  de  Courcy  Smyth — spent  and  stupefied  by  the 
writing  of  a  would-be  smart  critique  on  the  first-night  per- 
formance of  a  screaming  farce,  for  one  of  to-morrow's 
evening  papers — had  stumbled,  upsetting  the  fire-irons, 
as  he  slouched  across  his  room  to  bed.  Iglesias  heard  the 
creak  of  the  wire-wove  mattress  as  the  man  flung  himself 
down ;  and  that  familiar  sound  restored  his  sense  of  actual- 
ities. Yet  all  his  mood  was  changed  and  softened.  The 
return  to  childhood  had  made  a  strange  impression  upon 
him,  filling  him  with  a  great  nostalgia  for  things  appar- 
ently lost,  but  exquisite;  and  which,  having  once  been, 
might,  though  he  knew  not  by  what  conceivable  alchemy 
of  time  or  chance,  once  again  be.  Meanwhile,  he  must 
have  slept  long,  for  the  wind  had  grown  chill.  The  voice 
of  London,  the  monstrous  mother,  had  grown  weak  and 
intermittent.  And  the  earthly  light,  pulsing  along  the 
horizon,  had  grown  faint,  humbled  and  chastened  by  the 
whiteness  of  approaching  dawn. 


CHAPTER  IV 

A  QUAUTEK-MLLE  range  of  high  unpainted  oak  paling, 
well  seasoned,  well  carpentered,  innocent  of  chink  or 
shrinkage,  impervious  to  the  human  eye.  Visible  above 
it  the  domed  heads  of  enormous  elm  trees  steeped  in  sun- 
shine, rising  towards  the  ample  curve  of  the  summer  sky. 
At  intervals,  with  tumultuous  rush  and  scurry,  the  thud 
of  the  hoofs  of  unseen  horses,  galloping  for  all  they  are 
worth  over  grass.  The  suck  and  rub  of  breeches  against 
saddle-flaps,  the  rattle  of  a  curb  chain  or  the  rings  of 
a  bit.  A  call,  a  challenge,  smothered  exclamations.  The 
long-drawn  swish  of  the  polo  stick  through  the  air,  and 
the  whack  of  the  wooden  head  of  it  against  ball,  or 
ground,  or  something  unluckily  softer  and  more  sentient. 
A  pause,  broken  only  by  distant  voices,  and  the  sound, 
or  rather  sense,  of  men  and  horses  in  quiet  and  friendly 
movement;  followed  by  the  tumultuous  rush  and  scurry, 
and  all  the  moving  incidents  of  the  heard,  yet  unwitnessed, 
drama  over  again. 

For  here  it  was  that  gallant  and  costly  game  beloved 
of  Oriental  princes — rather  baldly  described  to  Mr. 
Iglesias  yesterday  by  the  driver  of  the  Hammersmith 
'bus  as  a  "  kind  of  hockey  on  horseback  " — in  very  full 
swing  no  doubt.  Only  unfortunately  Iglesias  found 
himself  on  the  wrong  side  of  the  palings.  And,  since 
he  had  learned,  indirectly,  from  the  observations  of 
the  monumental  police-sergeant — directing  the  stream  of 
carriages  at  the  entrance  gates — to  other  would-be  spec- 
tators, that  to  the  polo  ground,  as  to  so  much  else 
obviously  desirable  in  this  world,  there  is  "  no  admission 
except  by  ticket,"  on  the  wrong  side  of  these  same  palings 

38 


THE    FAR     HORIZON  39 

he  recognised  he  was  fated  to  stay.  It  was  a  disappoint- 
ment, not  to  say  an  annoyance.  For  he  had  come  forth, 
in  accordance  with  his  determination,  to  make  observa- 
tions and  inquiries  regarding  that  same  matter  of  amuse- 
ment. And,  since  the  influence  of  that  which  is  to  be 
acts  upon  us  almost,  if  not  quite,  as  strongly  as  the  in- 
fluence of  that  which  has  been,  the  handsome,  eager  coun- 
tenance of  young  Alaric  Barking  and  the  graceful  figure 
of  his  fair  companion,  as  seen  from  the  'bustop,  occurred 
very  forcibly  in  this  connection  to  Dominic  Iglesias'  mind. 
He  would  go  forth  and  behold  that  which  they  had  gone 
forth  to  behold.  He  would  witness  the  sports  of  the  well- 
born and  rich.  From  these  he  elected,  somewhat  proudly, 
to  take  his  first  lessons  in  the  fine  art  of  amusement.  So 
here  he  was ;  and  here,  too — very  much  here — were  the 
palings,  spelling  failure  and  frustration  of  purpose. 

Fortunately  unwonted  exercise  and  the  pure  invigorat- 
ing atmosphere  tended  to  generate  placidity,  and  agree- 
able harmony  of  the  mental  and  physical  being.  It  fol- 
lowed that  active  annoyance  was  short-lived.  For  a 
minute  or  two  Mr.  Iglesias  loitered,  listening  to  the  mov- 
ing music  of  the  unseen  game.  Then,  walking  onward 
to  the  end  of  the  enclosure,  where  the  palings  turn  away 
sharply  at  the  left,  he  crossed  the  road  and  made  for  a 
wooden  bench  just  there  amiably  presenting  itself.  It 
was  pleasant  to  rest.  The  walk  had  been  a  long  one; 
but  it  now  appeared  to  him  that  the  labour  of  it  had 
not  been  wholly  in  vain.  For  around  him  stretched  a 
breezy  common,  broken  by  straggling  bramble  and  furze 
brakes,  and  dotted  with  hawthorn  bushes,  upon  the  top- 
most branches  of  which  the  crowded  pinkish-white  blos- 
soms still  lingered.  From  one  to  another  small  birds 
flitted  with  a  pretty  dipping  flight,  uttering  quick  de- 
tached notes  as  in  merry  question  and  answer.  Through 
the  rough  turf  the  bracken  pushed  upward,  uncurling 


40  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

sturdy  croziers  of  brownish  green.  Away  to  the  right, 
beyond  the  railway  line,  rose  the  densely  wooded  slopes 
of  Roehampton  and  Sheen;  while,  against  the  purple- 
green  gloom  of  them,  the  home  signals  of  Barnes  Station 
— hard  white  lines  and  angles  tipped  with  scarlet  and 
black — stood  out  in  high  relief  like  the  gigantic  char- 
acters of  some  strange  alphabet.  Down  the  wide  road 
motors  ground  and  snorted;  and  carriages  moved  slowly, 
two  abreast,  the  menservants  sitting  at  ease,  talking  and 
smoking  while  waiting  to  take  up  at  the  police-guarded 
gate,  back  there  towards  the  heat  and  smoke  of  London, 
when  the  polo  match  should  be  played  out. 

But  immediately  London,  the  heat,  and  smoke,  and 
raucous  voice  of  it,  seemed  far  enough  away,  the  whole- 
some charm  of  the  country  very  present.  For  a  while 
Dominic  Iglesias  yielded  himself  up  to  it.  Receptive, 
quiescent,  contented,  he  basked  in  the  sunshine,  his  mind 
vacant  of  definite  thought.  But  for  a  while  only.  For 
as  physical  fatigue  wore  off,  definite  thought  returned; 
and  with  it  the  sense  of  his  own  loneliness,  the  oppres- 
sion of  a  future  empty  of  work,  the  bitterness  of  this 
enhanced  by  the  little  disappointment  he  had  lately  suf- 
fered. He  leaned  forward,  his  hands  clasped  between  his 
knees,  looking  at  the  bracken  croziers  pushing  bravely 
upward  through  the  rough  turf  to  air  and  light.  Even 
these  blind  and  speechless  things  worked,  in  a  sense,  ful- 
filling the  law  of  their  existence.  He  went  back  on  the 
dream  of  last  night,  on  his  own  childhood,  the  happiness, 
yet  haunting  unspoken  anxiety  of  it,  his  father's  fanati- 
cism, fierce  revolutionary  propaganda,  and  mysteriously 
uncertain  fate. 

"And  to  think  that  was  the  pit  out  of  which  I,  of 
all  men,  was  digged!"  he  said  to  himself.  "Have  I 
done  something  to  restore  the  family  balance  in  respect 
of  right  reason,  or  is  the  shame  of  incapacity  upon  me? 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  41 

Have  I  sacrificed  myself,  or  cowardly  have  I  merely 
shirked  living?  Heaven  knows — I  don't,  only " 

But  here  his  uncheerful  meditations  were  broken  in  on 
by  a  voice,  imperative  in  tone,  yet  perceptibly  shaken 
by  laughter. 

"  Cappadocia !  "  it  called.  "  Cappadocia !  Do  you 
hear?  Come  here,  you  little  reprobate." 

Then  Dominic  Iglesias  perceived  that  he  had  ceased 
to  b,e  sole  occupant  of  the  bench.  A  dog,  a  tiny  toy 
spaniel,  sat  beside  him.  It  sidled  very  close,  gazing  at 
him  with  foolishly  prominent  eyes.  Its  ears,  black  edged 
with  tan,  soft  and  lustrous  as  floss  silk,  hung  down  in 
long  lappets  on  either  side  its  minute  and  melancholy 
face.  The  tip  of  its  red  tongue  just  showed.  It  was 
abnormally  self-conscious  and  solemn.  It  planted  one 
fringed  paw  upon  Iglesias'  arm  and  it  snored. 

"  Cappadocia ! — well,  of  all  the  cheeky  young  beg- 
gars  " 

This  time  the  voice  broke  in  unmistakable  merriment, 
wholly  spontaneous,  as  of  relief,  even  of  mischievous 
triumph ;  and  Mr.  Iglesias,  looking  up,  found  himself 
confronted  by  a  young  woman.  She  advanced  slowly, 
her  trailing  string-coloured  lace  skirts  gathered  up  lazily 
in  one  hand.  About  her  shoulders  she  wore  a  long  blue- 
purple  silk  scarf,  embroidered  with  dragons  of  peacock, 
and  scarlet,  and  gold.  These  rather  violent  colours 
found  repetition  in  the  nasturtium  leaves  and  flowers 
that  crowned  her  lace  hat,  the  wide  brim  of  which  was 
tied  down  with  narrow  strings  of  purple  velvet,  gipsy 
fashion,  beneath  her  chin.  Under  her  arm  she  carried 
another  tiny  spaniel,  the  creature's  black  morsel  of  a 
head  peeping  out  quaintly  from  among  the  forms  of  the 
embroidered  dragons,  which  last  appeared  to  writhe,  as 
in  the  heat  of  deadly  conflict,  as  their  wearer  moved.  Her 
face  was  in  shadow  owing  to  the  breadth  of  the  brim  of 


42  THE    FAR     HORIZON 

her  hat.  Otherwise  the  sunshine  embraced  her  whole 
figure,  conferring  on  it  a  glittering  yet  singularly  un- 
substantial effect,  as  though  a  column  of  pale  windswept 
dust  were  overlaid,  here  and  there,  with  splendour  of  rich 
enamel. 

And  it  was  just  this  effect  of  something  unsubstantial, 
in  a  way  fictitious  and  out  of  relation  to  sober  fact,  which 
struck  Dominic  Iglesias,  robbing  him  for  the  moment 
of  his  dignified  courtesy.  Frankly  he  stared  at  this  ap- 
pearance, so  strangely  at  variance  with  the  realities  of 
his  own  melancholy  thought.  Meanwhile  the  little  dog 
snuggled  up  yet  closer  against  him. 

"  Yes — pray  don't  disturb  yourself,"  the  young  lady 
went  on  volubly.  "  It's  too  bad,  I  know,  to  intrude  on 
you  like  this.  But  as  Cappadocia  refuses  to  come  to  me, 
it  is  clear  I  have  to  come  after  Cappadocia.  It's  simply 
disgraceful  the  way  she  carries  on  when  one  takes  her  out, 
making  acquaintances  like  this,  casually,  all  over  the 
place.  The  maids  flatly  refuse  to  air  her,  even  on  a 
string.  They  say  it  becomes  a  little  too  compromising. 
But,  as  I  explain  to  them,  she's  not  a  bit  the  modern 
woman.  She  belongs  to  a  stage  of  social  development 
when  pretty  people  infinitely  preferred  being  compromised 
to  being  squelched."  The  speaker  laughed  again  quietly. 
"  I'm  not  altogether  sure  they  weren't  right.  When  you 
are  squelched,  finished,  done  for,  it  matters  precious  little 
whether  you've  been  compromised  first  or  not.  Don't  you 
agree?  Any  way,  Cappadocia's  not  going  to  be  squelched 
if  she  can  help  it.  She's  horribly  scared,  or  pretends  to 
be,  at  motors.  Let  one  toot  and  she  forgets  all  her  fine- 
lady  manners,  and  just  skips  to  anybody  for  protection. 
She'll  take  refuge  in  the  most  unconventional  places  to 
escape." 

The  part  of  wisdom,  in  face  of  this  very  forthcoming 
young  person,  would  have  been  no  doubt  to  arise  and 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  43 

withdraw.  But  to  Dominic  Iglesias,  just  then,  dogs, 
woman,  conversation,  were  alike  so  remote  and  unreal, 
part  merely  of  the  scene  which  he  had  been  contem- 
plating, that  he  failed  to  take  them  seriously.  Divorced 
from  routine,  he  was  divorced,  in  a  way,  from  habitual 
modes  of  mind  and  conduct.  He  neither  consented  nor 
refused,  but  just  let  things  happen,  attaching  little  or 
no  meaning  to  them.  If  this  feminine  being  chose  to 
prattle — well,  let  her  do  so.  Really  he  did  not  care. 

"  I  am  not  very  modern  myself,"  he  said,  with  a  shade 
of  weariness.  "  So  perhaps  your  small  dog  had  some 
intuition  of  a  kindred  spirit  when  taking  refuge  with 
me." 

"  All  the  same,  you  hardly  date  from  the  social  era  of 
Charles  II.,  I  fancy,"  the  young  lady  answered  quickly. 

As  she  spoke  she  raised  her  chin  with  a  slightly  im- 
pudent movement,  thus  bringing  her  countenance  into 
the  sunlight.  For  the  first  time  Iglesias  clearly  saw  her 
face.  -  It  was  small,  the  features  insignificant,  the  skin 
smooth  and  fine  in  texture,  but  sallow.  Her  hair,  black 
and  very  massive,  was  puffed  out  and  dressed  low,  hiding 
her  ears.  Her  lips  were  rather  positively  red,  and  the 
tinge  of  colour  on  either  cheek,  though  slight,  was  not 
wholly  convincing  in  tone.  Even  to  a  person  of  Mr. 
Iglesias'  praiseworthy  limitation  of  experience  in  such 
matters,  her  face  was  vaguely  suggestive  of  the  footlights 
— would  have  been  distinctly  so  but  for  her  eyes.  These 
were  curiously  at  variance  with  the  rest  of  her  appear- 
ance. They  belonged  to  a  quite  other  order  of  woman, 
so  to  speak — a  woman  of  finer  physique,  of  higher  in- 
telligence, possibly  of  nobler  purposes.  They  were  ar- 
restingly  large  in  size,  thereby  helping  to  dwarf  the  pro- 
portions of  her  face.  In  colour  they  were  a  rather  light 
warm  hazel,  with  a  slight  film  over  both  iris  and  pupil, 
and  a  noticeably  bluish  shade  in  the  whites  of  them.  In 


44  THE     FAR    HORIZON 

these  last  particulars  they  were  like  a  baby's  eyes;  but 
very  unlike  in  the  reflective  intensity  of  their  observation 
as  she  fixed  them  upon  Dominic  Iglesias. 

"  Cappadocia  may  be  a  fool  about  motors,"  she  re- 
marked, "  but  she's  uncommonly  shrewd  in  reading  char- 
acter. She  seems  to  like  you,  to  have  taken  you  on, 
don't  you  know;  and  she's  generally  right.  So  I'll  sit 
down,  please.  Oh !  no,  no,  come  along  now  " — this  as  Mr. 
Iglesias  rose  and  made  a  movement  to  depart — "  why, 
dear  man,  the  very  point  of  the  whole  show  is  that  you 
should  sit  down,  too." 


CHAPTER  V 

' 

AND  so  it  came  about  that  the  Lady  of  the  Windswept 
Dust  sat  at  one  end  of  the  flat  bench  and  Dominic  Iglesias 
at  the  other,  with  the  two  absurd  and  exquisite  little  dogs 
in  between.  And  the  lady  chattered.  Her  voice  was 
sweet  and  full,  with  plaintive  tones  and  turns  of  laughter 
in  it ;  and,  though  the  vowel  sounds  were  not  wholly  im- 
peccable, having  the  tang  in  them  common  to  the  speech  of 
the?  cockney  bred,  the  aspirates  happily  remained  invio- 
late. And  Iglesias  listened,  still  with  a  curious  indiffer- 
ence, as,  sitting  in  the  body  of  the  house,  he  might  have 
listened  to  patter  from  the  other  side  of  the  footlights. 
It  passed  the  time.  Presently  he  would  get  up,  taking 
the  whole  of  his  rather  sorrowful  personality  along 
with  him,  and  go  out  by  the  main  entrance,  while  she 
left  by  the  stage  door — and  so  vanished,  little  dogs 
and  all. 

"  It's  my  habit  to  play  fair,"  she  announced.  "  If 
I'm  going  to  ask  personal  questions  at  the  finish,  I  always 
lead  up  to  them  by  supplying  personal  information  at 
the  start.  It's  mean  to  induce  other  people  to  give  them- 
selves away  unless  you  give  yourself  away  first — also, 
I  observe  it  is  usually  quite  unsuccessful.  Well,  then,  to 
begin  with,  his  name  " — she  gently  poked  the  tiny  spaniel 
beside  her,  causing  it  to  wriggle  uneasily  all  the  length 
of  its  satiny  back — "  is  Onions.  Graceful  and  distin- 
guished, isn't  it?  But  I  give  you  my  word  I  couldn't 
help  myself.  Cappadocia's  so  duchessy  that  I  had  to 
knock  the  conceit  out  of  her  somehow,  or  it  would  not 
have  been  possible  to  live  with  her.  She  was  altogether 
too  smart  for  me — used  to  look  at  me  as  if  I  was  a 
cockroach.  So  I  consulted  a  friend  of  mine  about  it; 

45 


46  THE     FAR    HORIZON 

for  it's  a  little  too  much  to  be  made  to  feel  like  a  black- 
beetle  in  your  own  house,  and  by  a  thing  of  that  size, 
too!  And  he — my  friend — said  there  is  nothing  to  com- 
pare with  a  mesalliance  for  taking  the  stuffing  out  of  any- 
one. I  own  I  was  not  exactly  off  my  head  about  that 
speech  of  his.  In  a  way  it  was  rather  a  facer;  but 
when  I  got  cool  I  saw  he  was  right.  After  all,  he  knew, 

and  I  knew — and  he  knew  that  I  knew " 

The  lady  paused.  Her  voice  had  taken  on  a  plaintive 
inflection.  She  looked  away  at  the  domed  heads  of  the 
enormous  elm  trees  above  the  range  of  oak  palings. 

"  For  the  life  of  me  I  can't  imagine  why  you're  here," 
she  exclaimed,  "  instead  of  inside  there  with  all  the  rest 
of  them!  However,  we  haven't  got  as  far  as  that  yet. 
I  was  telling  you  about  my  King  Charleses.  So  my  friend 
brought  me  this  one  " — again  she  poked  the  little  dog 
gently.  "  His  pedigree's  pretty  fair,  but  of  course  it's 
not  a  patch  on  Cappadocia's.  Her  prizes  and  the  pup- 
pies— you  don't  mind  my  alluding  quite  briefly  to  the 
puppies — are  a  serious  source  of  income  to  me.  But  I 
believe  she  would  have  ignored  the  defective  pedigree.  He 
I  is  rather  nice-looking,  you  see,  and  Cappadocia  is  rather 
superficial.  It  is  the  name  that  worries  her — Onions, 
Willie  Onions,  that's  where  the  real  trouble  comes  in.  Not 
like  it?  I  believe  you.  She's  capable  of  saving  up  all 
her  pocket-money  to  buy  him  a  foreign  title,  as  a  rich, 
ugly  woman  I  once  knew  did  who  married  a  man  called 
Spittles.  He  was  a  bad  lot  when  she  married  him,  and 
he  stayed  so.  But  as  the  Comte  d'Oppitale  it  didn't 
matter.  Vices  became  merely  quaint  little  eccentricities. 
If  he  beat  her  it  was  with  an  umbrella  with  a  coronet 
on  the  handle,  and  that  made  all  the  difference.  Every- 
thing for  the  shop  window,  you  see,  with  a  nature  like 
hers  or  Cappadocia's.  But  I  don't  rub  it  in,  I  assure 
you  I  don't  I  only  remind  Cappadocia  of  the  fact  by 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  47 

calling  her  Mrs.  W.  O.  when  she's  a  pest  and  a  terror. 
And  that's  better  than  smacking  her,  anyhow,  isn't  it?  " 

To  this  proposition  Mr.  Iglesias  gravely  assented. 
The  lady  drew  her  blue-purple  scarf  a  little  closer  about 
her  shoulders,  causing  the  embroidered  dragons  to  writhe 
as  in  the  heat  of  conflict,  while  the  sunlight  glinted  on 
the  gold  thread  of  their  crests  and  claws,  and  glittered 
in  their  jewelled  eyes.  She  gazed  at  the  elm  trees  again. 

"  It's  quite  nice  to  hear  you  speak,  you  know,"  she 
remarked  parenthetically.  "  The  conversation  has  been 
a  little  one-sided  so  far.  I  was  beginning  to  be  afraid 
you  might  be  bored.  But  now  it's  all  right.  I  flourish 
on  encouragement!  So,  to  go  on,  my  name  is  Poppy — 
Poppy  St.  John — Mrs.  St.  John.  Rather  good,  isn't 
it?" 

"  Distinctly  so,"  said  Mr.  Iglesias.  Her  unblushing 
effrontery  began  to  entertain  him  somewhat.  And  then 
he  had  sallied  forth  in  search  of  amusement.  This  was 
not  the  form  of  amusement  he  would  have  selected;  but — 
since  it  presented  itself? 

"  I'm  glad  you  like  it,"  she  returned.  "  I've  always 
thought  it  rather  telling  myself — an  improvement  on  Mrs. 
Willie  Onions,  anyhow.  Oh !  yes,  a  vast  improvement," 
she  repeated.  "  My  friend  was  quite  right.  I  tell  you 
it's  an  awful  handicap  to  have  a  name  which  gives  you 
away  socially.  The  man,  the  husband,  I  mean,  may  be 
the  best  of  the  good.  Still,  it's  difficult  to  forgive  him 
for  labelling  you  with  some  stupidity  like  that.  There's 
no  getting  away  from  it.  You  feel  like  a  bottle  of  pickles, 
or  boot-polish,  or  a  tin  of  insecticide  whenever  a  servant 
announces  you.  Everybody  knows  where  you  do — and 
don't — come  in.  But,  to  go  on,  I  am  barely  three — only 
I  fancy  you  are  the  sort  of  person  who  is  rather  rough 
on  lying,  aren't  you?  Well,  in  that  case,  quite  between 
ourselves — I  am  just  turned  nine-and- twenty." 


48  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

She  faced  round  on  Dominic  Iglesias,  fixing  on  him 
those  curiously  arresting  eyes,  which  at  once  emphasised 
and  redeemed  the  commonness  of  her  face,  as  the  sweet- 
ness of  her  voice  emphasised  and  redeemed  the  common- 
ness of  her  accent,  and  the  quietude  of  her  manner  and 
movements  mitigated  the  impertinence  of  her  words  and 
vulgarity  of  her  diction. 

"  And  really  that's  about  all  it  is  necessary  for  you 
to  know  at  present,"  she  asserted.  "  We  shall  see  later, 
if  we  keep  it  up — if  Cappadocia  keeps  it  up,  I  mean,  of 
course.  She  is  fearfully  gone  on  you  now,  that's  clear; 
and  she  may  be  capable  of  a  serious  attachment.  I 
can't  tell.  An  unfortunate  marriage  has  been  known  to 
turn  that  way  before  now.  Anyhow,  we'll  give  her  the 
benefit  of  the  doubt." 

Poppy  laughed  softly,  leaning  forward  and  still  look- 
ing at  Mr.  Iglesias  from  under  the  shadow  of  her  wide- 
brimmed  hat. 

"  Now,"  she  said,  "  come  along.  I've  shown  you  I 
play  fair  all  round,  even  to  a  stuck-up  little  monkey  of 
a  thing  like  Cappadocia.  It's  your  turn  to  stand  and 
deliver.  I  had  been  watching  you  and  speculating  for 
ever  so  long  before  our  introduction.  Tell  me,  who  on 
earth  are  you  ?  " 

Iglesias'  figure  stiffened  a  little;  but  it  was  impossible 
to  be  annoyed  with  her.  To  begin  with,  she  was  too 
unreal,  too  unsubstantial  a  being.  And,  to  go  on  with, 
invincible  good-temper  is  so  very  disarming. 

"Who  am  I?     Nobody,"  he  answered  gravely. 

"  Bless  us,  here's  a  find ! "  Poppy  cried,  apparently 
addressing  the  little  dogs.  "Hasn't  he  so  much  of  a 
name  even  as  Willie  Onions?  Where's  it  gone  to?  It 
must  be  nearly  as  awkward  for  him  as  it  was  for  the 
man  who  had  no  shadow.  Come,  though,"  she  added  in 
tones  of  remonstrance,  "you  must  play  fair.  Cards  on 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  49 

the  table  and  no  humbugging.  To  put  it  another  way, 
what  do  you  do?  " 

"  Since  yesterday,  nothing,"  he  answered. 

The  young  lady  regarded  him  with  increasing  interest. 

"  But,  my  gentle  lunatic,"  she  said,  "  you  didn't 
exactly  begin  your  acquaintance  with  this  planetary 
sphere  yesterday — couldn't,  you  know,  though  you  are 
very  beautiful  to  look  at.  So,  if  you  don't  very  particu- 
larly much  mind,  we'll  hark  back  to  before  yesterday." 

Dominic  Iglesias'  gravity  gave  way  slightly.  He 
smiled  in  spite  of  his  natural  pride  and  reticence. 

"  For  over  thirty-five  years  I  was  a  clerk  in  a  city 
bank." 

"  Pshaw ! "  Poppy  cried  hotly.  *'  And  pray  what 
variety  of  congenital  idiot  do  you  take  me  for?  If  you 
are  going  to  decline  upon  fiction,  please  let  it  be  of  a 
higher  order  than  that.  I  tell  you  it's  unworthy  of 
you!" 

She  pursed  up  her  lips  and  moved  her  head  slowly  from 
side  to  side  in  high  disgust. 

"Don't  be  childish,"  she  said.  "Don't  be  trans- 
parently silly.  If  you  want  to  gas,  do  put  a  little  more 
intelligence  into  it.  You — you — out  of  sight  the  most 
distinguished-looking  man  I've  ever  met  except  Lord — 
well,  we  won't  name  names,  it  sounds  showy — you  a  clerk 

in  a  city  bank!  There,  excuse  me,  but  simply " 

Poppy  snapped  her  fingers  like  a  pair  of  castanets, 
making  the  little  dogs  start  and  whimper.  "  Fiddle !  " 
she  cried ;  "  tell  it  to  a  bed-ridden  spinster  in  a  blind 
asylum  ! — Fiddle-de-dee !  " 

And  for  the  life  of  him  Dominic  Iglesias  could  not 
help  laughing.  It  was  a  new  sensation.  It  occurred  to 
him  that  he  had  not  laughed  for  years — hardly  since 
the  days  of  poor  Pascal  Pelletier  and  the  little  garden  in 
Holland  Street,  Kensington. 


50  THE     FAR    HORIZON 

Poppy  watched  him,  her  eyes  dancing.  Her  expres- 
sion was  very  charming,  wholly  unselfconscious,  in  a 
way  maternal,  just  then.  But  Iglesias  was  hardly  sensi- 
ble of  it. 

"  That's  good,"  she  said.  "  Now  you'll  feel  a  lot  better. 
I  saw  there  was  something  wrong  with  you  from  the  start 
which  needed  breaking  up.  Now,  suppose  you  quit  inade- 
quate inventions  and  just  tell  the  truth." 

"  Unfortunately,  I  have  done  so  already,"  Mr.  Iglesias 
said. 

The  lady  paused  a  moment,  her  face  full  of  inquiry  and 
doubt. 

"  Honest  injun?  " 

The  term  was  not  familiar  to  her  hearer,  but  he  judged 
it  to  be  of  the  nature  of  an  asseveration,  and  assented. 

"  And  do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  for  all  those  years 
you  went  through  that  drudgery  every  day?  " 

"  I  had  my  Sundays,"  Iglesias  answered ;  "  and,  since 
their  invention,  my  bank  holidays.  Latterly  I  got  three 
weeks'  holiday  in  the  summer,  formerly  a  fortnight." 

Laughter  had  speedily  evaporated;  and,  his  harsher 
mood  returning  upon  him,  Iglesias  found  a  certain  bitter 
enjoyment  in  setting  forth  the  extreme  meagreness  of  his 
life  before  this  light-hearted,  unsubstantial  piece  of 
womanhood.  Again  he  classed  her  with  the  absurd  and 
exquisite  little  dogs  as  something  superfluous,  out  of 
relation  to  sad  and  sober  realities. 

"  And  yet  you  manage  to  look  as  you  do !  It  beats 
me,"  Poppy  declared.  "  I  tell  you  it  knocks  me  out  of 
time  completely.  For,  if  you'll  excuse  my  being  personal, 
there  is  an  air  about  you  not  usually  generated  by  an 
office  stool — at  least,  in  my  experience.  Where  do  you 
get  it  from?  You  can't  be  English?  " 

"  I  am  a  Spaniard  by  extraction,"  Mr.  Iglesias  said, 
with  a  slight  lift  of  the  head. 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  51 

"  There  now,  my  dear  man,  don't  you  go  and  freeze 
up  again.  We  were  just  beginning  to  get  along  so 
nicely,"  Poppy  put  in  quickly.  "  I  am  having  a  capital 
good  time,  and  you're  not  having  an  altogether  bad 
one,  are  you?  But,  tell  me,  how  long  ago  were  you 
extracted?  " 

"  Very  long  ago.  I  was  brought  to  England  as  a 
baby  child." 

"  Oh !  I  didn't  mean  it  that  way,"  she  returned.  "  I 
was  not  touching  on  the  unpardonable  subject  of  age; 
not  that  it  would  matter  much  in  your  case,  for  you  are 
one  of  the  lucky  sort  with  whom  age  does  not  count.  I 
only  meant  are  you  an  all-round  foreigner?  " 

"  Practically — my  mother  was  partly  Irish." 

Dominic  Iglesias  looked  away  to  those  densely  wooded 
slopes  of  Sheen  and  Roehampton,  against  the  purple- 
green  gloom  of  which  the  home  signals  of  Barnes  Station 
— hard  white  lines  and  angles  tipped  with  scarlet  and 
black — stood  out  like  the  gigantic  characters  of  some 
strange  alphabet.  The  air  was  sweet  with  the  scent  of 
new-mown  hay.  The  birds  flirted  up  and  down  the  haw- 
thorn bushes  and  furze  brakes.  It  was  all  very  charm- 
ing; yet  that  same  emptiness  and  distrust  of  the  future 
were  very  present  to  Iglesias.  He  forgot  all  about  his 
companion,  aware  only  that  those  two  unbidden  guests, 
Old  Age  and  Loneliness,  stood  close  beside  him,  claiming 
harbourage  and  entertainment. 

"  Ah !  your  mother,"  Poppy  said  slowly,  with  the 
slightest  perceptible  inflection  of  mockery.  "  And  she 
is  alive  still?  " 

Dominic  Iglesias  turned  upon  the  poor  Lady  of  the 
Windswept  Dust  fiercely.  She  had  come  too  close,  come 
from  her  proper  place — were  not  her  lips  painted? — be- 
hind the  footlights,  and  laid  her  hands  upon  that  which 
was  holy.  He  was  filled  with  unreasoning  anger  towards 


52  THE    FAR    HORIZON 

her — anger  towards  himself,  too,  that  he  should  have  de- 
parted from  his  habitual  silence  and  reticence,  submitted 
to  be  cross-questioned,  and  listened  to  her  feather-headed 
patter  so  long.  He  rose  to  his  feet,  for  the  moment 
young,  alert,  full  of  a  pride  at  once  militant  and  pro- 
tective. 

"  God  forbid ! "  he  said  sternly.  "  Dear  saint  'and 
martyr,  she  is  safe  from  all  misreading  at  last.  She  is 
dead." 

He  stood  a  moment  trying  to  choke  down  his  anger 
before  addressing  her  again. 

"  It  is  time  I  should  go,"  he  said  presently.  "  I  think 
we  have  talked  enough." 

But  Poppy  St.  John  presented  a  singular  appearance. 
All  the  audacity  had  departed  from  her.  She  sat  huddled 
together,  looking  very  small  and  desolate;  her  eyes — the 
one  noble  feature  of  her  face — swimming  with  tears. 

"  No,  no ;  don't  go,"  she  cried  in  tones  of  childlike 
entreaty.  "Why  should  you  go?  I  like  you,  and  I 
meant  no  harm.  I've  had  the  beastliest  day,  and  meet- 
ing you  was  a  let-up.  You  did  me  good  somehow.  Cap- 
padocia  was  quite  right  in  taking  to  you.  I  only  wanted 
to  know  about  you  because — well,  you  are  different. 
Pshaw,  don't  tell  me.  I  know  what  I  am  talking  about. 
You're  straight.  You're  good  right  through." 

The  words  were  poured  forth  so  rapidly  that  Iglesias 
hardly  gathered  the  exact  purport  of  them.  But  one 
thing  was  clear  to  him — namely,  that  this  frivolous  and 
meretricious  being  must  be  human  after  all,  since  she 
could  suffer. 

" Don't  go,"  she  repeated.  "I'm  miserable.  I'll  ex- 
plain. I'll  tell  you.  Just  sit  down  again.  It  would  be 
awfully  kind.  You  see,  I've  been  expecting  a  friend.  It 
was  all-important  I  should  see  him  to-day,  because  there 
were  things  to  be  said.  I've  been  awake  half  the  night 


THE    FAR    HORIZON  53 

screwing  up  my  courage  to  saying  them.  And  then  he 
never  turned  up,  I  got  nerves  waiting  hour  after  hour — 
anybody  would,  waiting  like  that.  And  I  began  to  im- 
agine every  kind  of  pestilent  disaster." 

Poppy  swallowed  a  little  and  dabbed  her  pocket- 
handkerchief  against  her  eyes. 

"J  shall  be  all  right  in  a  minute,"  she  went  on.  "  Do 
sit  down,  please.  You  say  you're  nobody  and  have 
nettling  to  do,  so  you  can't  very  well  be  in  a  hurry.  I 
am  like  this  sometimes.  It's  awfully  silly,  but  I  can't 
help  it.  Some  rotten  trifle  sets  me  off,  and  then  I  can't 
stop  myself.  I  begin  to  go  over  all  my  worst  luck. — 
Doesn't  it  occur  to  you  there's  no  earthly  good  in  stand- 
ing?- It  obliges  me  to  talk  loud,  and  it's  stupid  to  take 
all  Barnes  Common  into  our  confidence.  Thanks ;  that's 
very  nice  of  you. — Well,  you  see  when  I'm  like  this,  the 
flood-gates  of  memory  are  opened — which  sounds  pretty 
enough,  but  the  prettiness  is  strictly  limited  to  the  sound 
for  most  of  us,  at  least  as  far  as  my  experience  goes. 
The  water  is  generally  a  bit  dirty,  and  there  are  too  many 
dead  things  floating  about  in  it;  and,  when  they  reel  by, 
as  the  current  takes  them,  they  turn  and  seem  to  struggle 
and  come  half  alive." 

She  paused,  hitching  the  embroidered  dragons  up  about 
her  shoulders. 

"  That  is  why  I  put  on  this  scarf  to-day.  It  was 
given  me  by  a  man  who  was  awfully  fond  of  me  before — 
I  married.  He  bought  it  in  the  bazaar  at  Peshawur, 
and  sent  it  home  to  me  just  as  he  was  starting  on  one 
of  those  little  frontier  wars  the  accounts  of  which  they 
keep  out  of  the  English  papers.  And  he  was  killed, 
poor  dear  old  boy,  in  some  footy  little  skirmish.  And 
this  is  all  I've  got  left  of  him." 

Poppy  spread  out  the  ends  of  the  scarf  for  Mr.  Iglesias* 
inspection. 


54 

"  It  must  have  cost  a  lot  of  money.  The  stones  are 
real,  you  see ;  and  that  gold  thread  is  tremendously  heavy. 
Just  feel  the  weight.  It  was  all  his  people's  doing.  They 
didn't  consider  me  smart  enough  for  him — or  rather  for 
themselves.  They  weren't  anybody  in  particular,  but 
they  were  climbing.  The  society  microbe  had  bitten  them 
badly.  So  they  bundled  him  off  to  India.  What  another 
pair  of  shoes  it  would  have  been  for  me  if  he'd  lived !  At 
least  it  seems  so  to  me  when  I'm  down  on  my  luck,  as  I  am 
to-day.  But  after  all,  I  don't  know."  Poppy  began  to 
be  impudent,  to  laugh  again,  though  somewhat  brokenly. 
"  Sometimes  I  don't  believe  one  can  count  on  any  of  you 
men  till  you  are  well  dead,  and  then  you're  not  much  use, 
you  know,  faithful  or  unfaithful." 

She  dabbed  her  eyes  once  more  and  looked  at  Mr. 
Iglesias,  smiling  ruefully. 

"  Life's  a  pretty  rotten  business,  at  times,  all  round, 
isn't  it?  "  she  said.  "  You  must  have  found  it  so  with 
that  thirty  years'  drudgery  in  a  city  bank.  By  the  way, 
what  bank  was  it?  " 

And  Dominic  Iglesias,  touched  by  that  very  human 
story,  attracted,  in  spite  of  himself,  by  the  frankness 
of  his  companion,  a  little  shaken  by  the  novelty  of  the 
whole  situation,  answered  mechanically: 

:<The  bank?  Oh,  yes!  Messrs.  Barking  Brothers  & 
Barking  of  Threadneedle  Street." 

For  a  moment  Poppy  sat  silent,  her  mouth  round  as 
an  O.  Then  she  drew  her  open  hand  down  sharply  be- 
hind poor  Willie  Onions,  and  shot  the  small  dog,  in  a 
sitting  position,  off  the  bench  on  to  the  rough  grass.  His 
fringed  legs  stuck  out  stiff  as  sticks,  while  his  enormous 
lappets  of  ears  flew  up  and  back,  giving  him  the  most 
wildly  demented  appearance  during  this  brief  inglorious 
flight  through  space. 

"Catch  birds!"  she  cried,  "catch  birds,  I  tell  you? 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  55 

Think  of  your  figure.  My  good  child,  take  exercise  or 
you'll  be  as  round  as  a  tub !  " 

She  clapped  her  hands  encouragingly,  but  the  little 
animal,  half-scared,  half-offended,  came  closer,  fawning 
upon  her  trailing  string-coloured  skirts.  Poppy  leaned 
down,  resting  her  elbows  upon  her  knees,  and  flapped  at 
the  unhappy  Onions  with  her  handkerchief. 

"Go  away,  you  silly  billy.  Have  a  little  decent  pride, 
can/t  you?  Don't  bestow  attentions  when  they're  un- 
welcome." Then  she  addressed  herself  to  Mr.  Iglesias, 
but  without  looking  up.  "  I  beg  your  pardon,  all  this 
must  seem  rather  abrupt.  But  sometimes  one's  duty  to 
one's  family  takes  one  on  the  jump,  as  you  may  say; 
and  one  repairs  neglect  right  away  also  on  the  jump. 
But — but — there's  one  thing  I  should  like  to  know — 
when  I  told  you  my  name  just  now — Poppy  St.  John, 
Mrs.  St.  John — you  remember?  " 

"  I  remember,"  he  said. 

"  Well,  didn't  it  convey — didn't  it  mean  anything 
special  to  you?  " 

"  I  am  afraid  not,"  Iglesias  answered.  "  You  must 
pardon  my  ignorance,  since  I  have  lived  very  much  out 
of  the  world.  I  know  nothing  of  society." 

"  So  much  the  better.  The  world  is  a  vastly  over- 
rated place,  and  society  is  about  the  biggest  fraud 
going."  She  left  off  teasing  the  little  dog,  sat  bolt 
upright,  and  looked  full  at  Dominic  Iglesias,  her  eyes 
serious,  redeeming  all  the  insignificance  of  her  features 
and  those  little  doubtful  details  of  the  general  effect 
of  her.  "  Don't  make  any  mistake  about  either  of 
them,"  she  said.  "  Let  the  world  and  society  alone  as 
you  value  your  peace  of  mind  and  independence.  They're 
dead  sea  fruit  to  all  outsiders  such  as — well — you  and 
me.  I  hate  them;  only  they've  got  me,  and  will  have 
me  in  some  form  or  other  till  the  end,  I  suppose.  But 


56  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

you  are  different,  and  I  warn  you  " — Poppy's  voice  took 
on  an  odd  inflection  of  mingled  bitterness  and  tenderness 
— "  they  are  not  a  bit  adapted  for  a  beautiful,  innocent, 
uncrowned  king  like  you." 

She  got  up  as  she  spoke,  gathering  her  trailing  skirts 
about  her,  and  called  sharply  to  the  little  dogs. 

"  The  dew  is  rising,"  she  said,  "  and  Cappadocia's 
a  regular  cry-baby  if  she  gets  her  feet  wet.  I  must  take 
her  home.  There's  my  card.  You  see  the  address? 
You  can  come  when  you  like,  only  let  me  know  the  day 
beforehand,  because  I  should  be  sorry  to  have  people 
with  me  or  to  be  out.  Cappadocia  '11  want  you.  So 
shall  I.  You  do  me  good.  I'll  play  quite  fair,  I  promise 
you.  Good-night." 

The  sun  stood  in  a  triumph  of  crimson  and  gold, 
which  passed  into  the  fine  blue  of  a  belt  of  earth  mist. 
Eastward  the  sky  blushed,  too,  but  with  brazen  blushes, 
tarnished  by  the  breath  of  the  great  city — the  pure  blue 
of  the  earth  mist  exchanged  for  the  murk  of  coal  smoke 
and  the  thousand  and  one  exhalations  of  steaming  streets, 
public-houses  and  restaurants.  Poppy  St.  John  walked 
slowly  along  the  footpath,  her  figure  dyed  by  the  efful- 
gence of  the  skies  to  the  crimson  and  gold  of  her  name. 
About  her  shoulders  the  embroidered  dragons  glittered  as 
she  moved,  while  the  two  tiny  spaniels  trotted  humbly  at 
her  heels.  For  a  brief  space  she  showed  absolutely 
resplendent.  Then  suddenly  an  interposing  terrace  of 
smart  much-be-balconied  and  beflowered  little  houses  shut 
off  the  sunset ;  and  in  their  rather  vulgar  shadow  Dominic 
Iglesias,  watching,  beheld  her  transformed  into  the  un- 
substantial, in  a  way  fictitious,  Lady  of  the  Windswept 
Dust  and  of  the  footlights  once  again. 


CHAPTER    VI 

THAT  weekly  ceremony — well  known  to  Trimmer's  Green 
• — Mrs.  Lovegrove's  afternoon  at-home,  was  in  progress. 
She  wore  her  black  satin  gown,  and  her  white  Maltese  lace 
fichu,  just  to  give  it  a  touch  of  summer  lightness.  It 
must  be  added  that  she  was  warm  and  uncomfortable, 
having  conscientiously  superintended  preparations  in 
respect  of  commissariat  in  the  overheated  atmosphere  of 
the  basement ;  hurried  upstairs — the  imagined  tinkle  of  the 
front-door  bell  perpetually  in  her  ears — to  pull  her  stays 
in  at  the  waist  and  project  herself  into  the  aforemen- 
tioned official  garments — a  very  trying  process  on  a  June 
day  to  a  person  of  ample  contours  and  what  may  be 
described  as  the  fluidic  temperament.  Later  she  had 
cooled  off,  or  tried  so  to  cool — for  on  such  occasions  there 
is  invariably  some  window-blind,  ornament,  or  piece  of 
furniture  actively,  in  need  of  straightening — sitting  in 
her  somewhat  fog-stained  and  sun-faded  drawing-room 
during  that  evil  period  of  waiting  in  which  the  intending 
hostess  first  suffers  acute  mortification  because  she  is 
"  quite  sure  nobody  will  come,"  and  then  gets  hot  all  over 
from  the  equally  agitating  certainty  that  everybody  she 
has  ever  known  will  appear  simultaneously,  and  that 
there  will  be  neither  cakes  nor  conversation  enough  to 
go  round. 

But  this  disquieting  and  oft-repeated  preface  to  the 
afternoon's  festivity  was  now  happily  over.  And  the 
good  lady,  oblivious  of  discomfort  and  a  slightly  dis- 
organised complexion,  sat  purring  with  satisfaction  upon 
her  best  Chesterfield  sofa,  Dr.  Giles  Nevington  beside  her. 

"  Pleasure,  not  business,  to-day,  Mrs.  Lovegrove.  For 
once  I  am  going  to  make  no  demands  on  my  faithful 

SI 


58  THE     FAR    HORIZON 

and  able  coadjutor.  This  call  is  a  purely  friendly  one 
— no  subscription  lists  of  any  sort  or  description  in  my 
pocket,"  the  clergyman  had  said  in  his  resonant  bass  when 
clasping  her  hand. — A  large,  dark,  clean-shaven  man  of 
forty,  a  studied  effect  of  geniality  and  benevolence  about 
him,  slightly  tempered,  perhaps,  by  cold  and  watchful 
blue-grey  eyes,  fixed — so  said  his  detractors — with  un- 
swerving determination  upon  the  shovel-hat,  apron,  and 
gaiters  of  the  Anglican  episcopate. 

Rhoda  Lovegrove,  however,  was  very  far  from  being 
among  the  detractors.  She  relished  this  gracious  speech 
enormously.  She  also  approved  the  attitude  of  her  hus- 
band at  this  juncture;  since,  with  praiseworthy  tact, 
he  engaged  the  attention  of  her  two  other  guests,  a  Mrs. 
Ballard  and  her  daughter.  These  ladies  were  rich,  the 
younger  had  pretensions  both  to  beauty  and  fashion; 
but  their  present  was,  alas!  stained  by  Nonconformity, 
their  past  contaminated  by  association  with  retail  trade. 
At  the  entrance  of  the  vicar,  remembering  these  sad  de- 
fects, George  Lovegrove  rose  to  the  occasion.  Gently, 
but  firmly,  he  pranced  round  them  heading  them  towards 
the  doorway. 

"Who  are  those?"  Dr.  Nevington  inquired,  with  some 
interest.  "Not  parishioners,  I  fancy." 

"  Not  in  any  true  sense,"  Mrs.  Lovegrove  replied. 
"  Dissenters,  and  I  am  sorry  to  say  rather  spiteful  against 
the  Church." 

The  clergyman  leaned  back  and  crossed  his  legs 
comfortably. 

"Ah!  well,  poor  human  nature!  A  touch  of  jealousy 
perhaps,"  he  remarked. 

Mrs.  Lovegrove  beamed. 

"  Very  likely — still  I  should  be  just  as  well  pleased  not 
to  continue  their  acquaintance.  I  don't  like  to  hear 
things  that  are  disrespectful.  I  should  have  ceased  to 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  59 

call,  but  relatives  of  theirs  are  old  friends  of  Mr.  Love- 
grove's  mother's  family." 

"  Quite  so,  quite  so,"  the  other  returned.  Even  when 
silent  the  sound  of  him  seemed  to  encompass  him,  as  the 
roll  of  a  drum  seems  to  salute  you  when  merely  beholding 
that  instrument.  His  speech  filled  all  the  room,  flowing 
forth  into  every  corner,  sweeping  upward  in  waves  to  the 
very  .cornice.  The  feminine  members  of  his  congregation 
found  this  most  beautiful;  having,  indeed,  been  known  to 
declare  that  did  he  preach  in  Chinese,  they  would  still 
receive  edification  and  spiritual  benefit. — "  Quite  so,"  he 
repeated,  "  the  breaking  of  old  family  ties  is  certainly  to 
be  avoided.  And  then,  moreover,  we  should  always  guard 
against  any  appearance  of  harshness  or  illiberality  in 
dealing  with  Christians  from  whom  we  have  reason  to 
differ  in  minor  questions  of  doctrine  or  practice.  We 
must  never  forget  that  the  Nonconformists,  though  they 
went  out  from  us,  do  remain  the  brethren  of  all  right- 
minded  Churchmen  in  a  very  special  sense,  since  they  have 
the  great  lessons  of  the  Reformation  at  heart.  I  could 
wish  that  certain  parties  within  the  Church  were  animated 
by  the  same  manly  and  intelligent  intolerance  of  idola- 
try and  superstition  as  the  majority  of  the  dissenters 
whom  I  meet.  Personally  I  should  welcome  greater 
freedom  of  intercourse,  and  a  frequent  interchange  of 
pulpits." 

"  We  know  who'd  be  the  gamers,"  Mrs.  Lovegrove  put 
in  gracefully. 

"  Ah !  well,  I  am  prepared  to  believe  that  the  gain 
might  not  be  exclusively  on  one  side." 

Mrs.  Lovegrove  folded  her  fat  hands,  purring  almost 
audibly.  He  seemed  to  her  so  very  wise  and  good. 

"  That's  so  like  you,  Dr.  Nevington,"  she  said.  "  As 
I  always  tell  Mr.  Lovegrove,  we  have  a  great  responsi- 
bility in  having  you  for  our  pastor  and  friend.  You  are 


60  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

a  standing  rebuke  to  many  of  us,  being  so  wide-minded 
yourself." 

"  Hardly  that,  hardly  that,"  he  answered  with  becom- 
ing modesty.  "  In  my  humble  way  I  do  strive  towards 
unity,  that  is  all.  Even  towards  the  Church  of  Rome 
I  would  extend  a  friendly  and  helpful  hand.  We  cannot, 
of  course,  go  to  her,  yet  she  should  never  be  discouraged 
from  coming  to  us. — But  here  is  your  good  husband  back 
again — ceased  to  be  unevenly  yoked  with  the  unbeliever, 
eh,  Lovegrove?  " 

"  I  was  glad  you  took  them  away,  Georgie,"  Mrs. 
Lovegrove  put  in.  "  Still  I'm  sorry  for  you,  for  the 
vicar's  been  talking  so  nobly.  You've  missed  such  a 
lot." 

"  Ah,  hardly  that.  I  have  merely  been  giving  your 
dear  good  wife  a  little  lecture  on  Christian  charity.  How 
is  Mrs.  Nevington?  Thank  you,  wonderfully  well,  earnest 
and  energetic  as  ever.  I  do  not  know  how  I  could  meet 
the  demands  of  this  large  parish  without  her." 

"  A  true  helpmeet,"  purred  Mrs.  Lovegrove. 

"  Truly  so — and  specially  in  all  questions  of  organisa- 
tion. She  is  altogether  my  superior  in  administrative 
capacity.  Indeed,  it  is  an  understood  thing  between  us 
that  I  relieve  her  of  what  may  be  called  the  bad  third 
of  her  marriage  vow.  If  she  will  love  and  honour,  I 
assure  her  I  am  ready  to  obey.  A  capital  working  rule 
for  husbands — eh,  Lovegrove? — always  supposing  they 
have  found  the  right  woman,  as  you  and  I  have." 

In  the  midst  of  this  delicious  badinage  the  hostess  had 
to  rise  to  receive  further  guests.  Conflicting  emotions 
struggled  within  her  ample  bosom — namely,  regret  at 
leaving  that  thrice  happy  sofa,  and  satisfaction  that 
others  should  behold  the  glory  thereon  so  visibly  en- 
throned. 

"How  d'ye  do,  Mrs.   Porcher?     How  d'ye   do,  Miss 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  61 

Hart?  "  she  said.  "  Very  kind  of  you  to  come  and  call. 
Only  a  few  friends  as  yet,  but  perhaps  that's  just  as 
pleasant  this  warm  afternoon.  Dr.  Nevington,  as  you 
see,  and  at  his  very  best  " — she  lowered  her  voice  dis- 
creetly. "  So  at  home,  so  full  of  great  thoughts,  and 
yet  so  comical — quite  a  privilege  for  all  to  hear  him 
talk." 

Encouraged  by  recent  commendation,  George  Love- 
grove  again  rose  with  praiseworthy  tact  to  the  occasion. 
It  may  be  stated  in  passing  that,  in  person,  he  was  below 
the  middle  height,  a  thick  oblong  man,  his  figure,  indeed, 
not  unsuggestive  of  a  large  carapace,  from  the  four  cor- 
ners of  which  sprouted  short  arms  and  legs.  His  face 
was  round,  fresh-coloured,  and  clean  to  the  point  of 
polish.  His  yellowish  grey  hair,  well  flattened  and  shin- 
ing, grew  far  back  on  his  forehead.  And  this,  combined 
with  small  blue  eyes,  clear  as  a  child's,  a  slight  inward 
squint  to  them,  produced  an  effect  of  permanent  and 
innocent  surprise  not  devoid  of  pathos.  In  character  he 
was  guileless  and  humble-minded.  The  spectacle  of 
cruelty  or  injustice  would,  however,  rouse  him  to  the  bel- 
ligerent attitude  of  the  proverbial  brebis  enrage.  He 
believed  himself  to  be  very  happy — an  added  touch  of 
pathos  perhaps — and  was  pained  and  surprised  if  it  was 
brought  home  to  him  that  others  found  life  a  less  com- 
fortable and  kindly  invention  than  he  himself  did.  Hence 
reports  of  suicides  worried  him  sadly.  He  would  always 
have  returned  a  verdict  of  temporary  insanity,  this  being 
to  him  the  only  explanation  conceivable  of  a  voluntary 
exit  from  our  so  excellent  present  form  of  existence.  Yet 
George  Lovegrove  was  not  without  his  little  secret  sor- 
row— who  indeed  is?  A  deep-seated  regret  for  non- 
existent small  Lovegroves  possessed  him,  the  instinct  of 
paternity  being  strong  in  him.  He  loved  children,  and, 
when  alone,  often  lingered  beside  perambulators  in  Ken- 


62  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

sington  Gardens  fondly  observing  their  contents.  Yet 
not  for  ten  thousand  pounds  sterling  would  he  have  ad- 
mitted this  weakness,  lest  in  doing  so  he  should  hurt  "  the 
wife's  feelings."  And  it  was  in  obedience  to  consideration 
for  the  said  feelings  that  he  now  threw  himself  gallantly 
into  the  breach.  For,  after  acting  as  appreciative  chorus 
to  an  interlude  of  sonorous  trifling  on  the  part  of  the 
clergyman  with  the  newcomers,  he  adroitly — under  prom- 
ise of  showing  her  recent  additions  to  his  collection  of 
picture  postcards — detached  Miss  Eliza  Hart  from  the 
neighbourhood  of  the  sofa  and  conveyed  her  to  the  farther 
side  of  the  room.  Mrs.  Porcher,  neat,  pensive,  and  senti- 
mental, could  be  trusted  to  play  the  part  of  attentive 
listener;  but  the  great  Eliza,  as  he  knew  by  experience, 
was  liable  to  develop  dangerous  energy,  to  get  a  little 
above  herself,  shake  her  leonine  mane  of  upstanding  sandy 
hair,  and  become  altogether  too  talkative,  not  to  say  loud, 
for  such  distinguished  company.  Personally  he  had  a 
soft  spot  in  his  heart  for  Eliza.  But,  if  she  put  herself 
forward,  he  feared  for  "  the  wife's  feelings,"  therefore  did 
he  skilfully  detach  her. 

And  he  had  reason  to  congratulate  himself  on  this 
manoeuvre,  for  Eliza  undoubtedly  was  in  a  frolicsome 
humour. 

''  Yes,"  she  remarked,  contemplating  the  portrait  of 
a  celebrated  actress.  "  That  is  very  taking  and  stylish ; 
and  it  is  just  what  I  should  like  to  have  done  with 
my  Peachie."  This  graceful  sobriquet  was  generally 
understood  to  bear  testimony  to  the  excellence  of  Mrs. 
Porcher's  complexion.  "  Now,  if  we  wanted  a  gentleman 
guest  or  two  more  at  any  time,  a  picture  postcard  of 
her  like  this,  just  slightly  tinted,  in  answer  to  inquiries?  " 

Miss  Hart,  her  head  on  one  side,  looked  playfully  at 
Mr.  Lovegrove. 

"  What   about  a  subsequent  summons  for  over-crowd- 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  63 

ing  ?  "  he  chuckled.  The  whole  breadth  of  the  room,  well 
understood,  was  between  him  and  the  wife's  feelings,  not 
to  mention  the  august  presence  beside  her  upon  the  sofa. 

"  No  doubt  that  has  to  be  thought  of ! "  Eliza  nodded 
sagely.  "  But  is  she  not  looking  sweeter  than  ever 
to-day?  Do  not  pretend  you  have  not  noticed  it,  Mr. 
Lovegrove.  There's  no  deceiving  me!  I  know  you." 

Like  all  mild  and  moral  men,  Lovegrove  flushed  with 
delight  at  any  suggestion  that  he  was  a  gay  dog,  a  dash- 
ing' blade.  His  good,  honest  face  took  on  a  higher  polish 
than  ever. 

"  You  are  too  clever  by  half,  Miss  Hart." 

"  Well,  somebody  has  to  keep  their  wits  about  them, 
with  such  a  love  as  Peachie  to  care  for.  I  dressed  her 
myself  to-day.  '  The  pearl-grey  gown  if  you  like,'  I 
said,  *  but  not  a  scrap  of  black  with  it.  Just  a  touch 
of  colour  at  the  throat,  please.'  *  No,  dear  Liz,'  she 
said,  *  it  would  call  for  remark,  since  I  have  never  done 
so  since  I  lost  Major  Porcher.'  But  there,  Mr.  Love- 
grove,  I  insisted.  For  why  she  should  go  on  wearing 
complimentary  mourning  all  her  life  for  a  wretch  that 
nearly  broke  her  heart  and  ruined  her,  passes  me.  *  For- 
get the  serpent,'  I  said,  *  and  put  on  a  little  turquoise  tulle 
pompon.'  Now  just  look  at  her!" 

"Rather  dangerous  for  some  people,  is  it  not?  "  Love- 
grove  inquired  quite  slyly. 

"  Hard  on  our  gentlemen,  you  mean  ?  Well,  perhaps 
it  is.  But  then  they  always  have  the  sight  of  me  to 
put  up  with. — No  compliments,  thank  you.  I  have  my 
eyesight  and  my  toilet-glass,  and  they  have  let  me  know 
I  was  no  Venus  ever  since  I  can  remember.  It  would  not 
do  to  depress  our  gentlemen  too  much.  They  might 
leave,  and  then  wherever  would  Cedar  Lodge  be?  " 

Miss  Hart  became  suddenly  serious  and  confidential. 

"  And  that  reminds  me,"  she  went  on.     "  I  wanted  to 


64  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

have  a  private  word  with  you  to-day  about  a  certain 
gentleman." 

"  Who  may  he  be  ?  "  the  good  George  inquired. 

"You   can  guess,   can't  you?     Your  own   candidate." 

"Mr.  Iglesias?" 

The  lady  nodded. 

"  Peachie  must  be  spared  anxiety,  therefore  I  speak, 
Mr.  Lovegrove.  Something  is  going  on,  and  she  is 
getting  worried.  You  cannot  approach  the  person  to 
whom  we  are  alluding  as  you  can  either  of  our  others. 
Rather  stand-offish,  even  now  after  nearly  eight  years 
that  he  has  been  with  us.  Between  you  and  me  and  the 
bedpost,  Mr.  Lovegrove,  I  am  just  a  wee  bit  nervous  of 
that  person.  So  if  you  could  hint,  quite  in  confidence, 
what  his  plans  may  be  for  the  future  it  would'  be  really 
friendly." 

"  Dear  me,  dear  me !  Plans  ?  I  do  not  quite  follow 
you,  Miss  Hart.  Nothing  wrong  with  him,  I  trust?  " 

"  That  is  just  what  we  cannot  find  out.  No  spying,  of 
course,  Mr.  Lovegrove.  Neither  Peachie  nor  I  would 
descend  to  such  meanness.  Our  gentlemen  have  perfect 
liberty.  We  would  scorn  to  put  questions.  But  it  is 
close  on  a  week  now  since  the  person  we  are  alluding  to 
has  been  to  the  City." 

"  Bless  me !  You  surprise  me.  He  cannot  have  left 
Barking  Brothers  &  Barking?  " 

The  great  Eliza  shook  her  leonine  mane. 

"  I  believe  that  is  just  exactly  what  he  has  done." 

:<  You  do  surprise  me.  I  can  hardly  credit  it.  Nearly 
a  week,  and  he  as  punctual  and  regular  as  clockwork! 
I  must  run  over  this  evening  and  catch  him.  Something 
must  be  wrong.  And  yet  why  has  he  not  been  here? 
Dear  me,  Miss  Hart,  you " 

But  the  end  of  the  sentence  was  lost  in  the  bass  notes 
issuing  from  the  presence  upon  the  sofa. 


THE     FAR    HORIZON  65 

"  Truly,  the  prosperity  of  the  nation,"  Dr.  Nevington 
was  saying,  "  of  this  dear  old  England  of  ours  that  we 
so  love,  is  wholly  bound  up  with  the  prosperity  of  her 
national  Church.  I  use  the  word  prosperity  in  a  plain, 
manly,  straightforward  sense.  Personally  I  should  re- 
joice to  see  the  bonds  of  Church  and  State  drawn  closer. 
It  could  not  fail  to  make  for  the  welfare  of  both.  Then, 
among  other  benefits,  we  should  see  the  poverty  of  many 
members  of  my  cloth,  which  is  now  a  crying  scandal " 

"  You  do  hear  very  sad  tales  from  the  country  districts, 
certainly,"  sighed  Mrs.  Lovegrove. 

"  The  state  of  affairs  is  more  than  sad,  it  is  iniquitous. 
And  therefore  the  Church  must  assert  herself.  The  in- 
dividual minister  must  assert  himself,  and  claim  a  higher 
scale  of  remuneration.  Help  yourself,  show  push  and 
principle,  cultivate  practical  aims — that  is  what  I  preach 
to  young  men  reading  for  Holy  Orders.  We  have  no  place 
in  these  days  for  visionaries  and  dreamers.  We  want  men 
who  march  with  the  times,  who  are  interested  in  politics, 
and  can  make  themselves  felt." 

So  did  the  great  voice  roll  on  and  outward.  Very 
beautiful  to  the  listeners  in  sound — though,  in  sense,  it 
may  be  questioned  whether  it  conveyed  very  definite  ideas 
to  them — but  highly  embarrassing  to  the  house-parlour- 
maid, whose  feminine  tones  quite  failed  to  make  headway 
against  the  volume  of  it.  With  the  consequence  that 
Dominic  Iglesias  was  left  standing  in  the  shadow  of  the 
doorway  unheeded. 

He  was  aware,  and  that  not  without  surprise,  how  much 
these  few  days  of  freedom  and  leisure  had  quickened  his 
perceptions.  His  mental  attitude  had  changed.  His  de- 
mand had  ceased  to  be  moderate.  Hence  he  suffered  a 
hundred  offences  to  taste  and  sensibility  hitherto  unknown, 
or  at  least  unregistered.  He  knew  when  a  woman  was 
plain,  when  a  conversation  was  vapid  or  vulgar,  a  manner 


66  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

pretentious,  a  speech  lacking  in  sincerity.  Consciously  he 
stood  aside,  no  longer  out  of  humility  or  indifference,  but 
critically  observant,  challenging  things  however  familiar, 
and  passing  judgment  upon  them.  For  example,  the  un- 
lovely character  of  Mrs.  Lovegrove's  drawing-room  en- 
grossed his  attention — the  dirty-browns  and  tentative 
watery  blues  of  it,  the  multiplicity  of  flimsy,  worthless, 
little  ornaments  revealing  a  most  lamentable  absence  of 
artistic  perception.  In  that  fine  booming  clerical  voice 
he  detected  a  kindred  absence  of  delicate  perception,  a 
showiness  born  of  very  inadequate  conception  of  relative 
values.  Indeed,  the  voice  and  the  sentiments  given  forth 
by  it,  in  as  far  as  he  caught  the  drift  of  them,  raised  a 
definite  spirit  of  antagonism  in  him.  The  voice  seemed  to 
trample.  Dominic  Iglesias  was  taken  with  an  inclination 
— very  novel  in  him — to  trample,  too.  He  crossed  the 
room,  an  added  touch  of  gravity  and  dignity  in  his  aspect 
and  manner. 

The  clergyman  gazed  at  him  with  some  curiosity,  while 
Mrs.  Lovegrove  surged  up  off  the  sofa. 

"  Mr.  Iglesias !  Well,  of  all  people !  Whoever  would 
have  expected  to  see  you  at  this  early  hour  of  the  day?  " 

"  Talk  of  a  certain  gentleman  and  that  gentleman  ap- 
pears," Miss  Eliza  Hart  whispered.  '  Then  wagging  her 
finger  at  her  host,  "  Now  don't  you  forget  that  little  ques- 
tion of  mine.  Find  out  his  intentions,  just,  as  you  may 
say,  under  the  rose.  But  there's  Peachie  signalling  to  go." 

In  the  ensuing  interval  of  farewells,  which  were  slightly 
protracted  owing  to  friskiness  on  the  part  of  the  fair 
Eliza,  Iglesias  found  himself  standing  beside  the  clergy- 
man. The  latter  still  regarded  him  with  curiosity.  But, 
whatever  his  faults,  not  his  worst  enemy  could  accuse  Dr. 
Nevington  of  being  a  respecter  of  persons  unless  he  was 
well  assured  beforehand  who  such  persons  might  be.  He 
therefore  turned  to  Iglesias  with  the  easy  air  of  patron- 


THE     FAR    HORIZON  67 

age'  not  uncommon  to  his  cloth,  as  one  who  should  say: 
"  My  good  sir,  don't  be  afraid.  I  am  a  man  of  the  world 
as  well  as  a  Christian.  I  will  handle  you  gently.  I  won't 
hurt  you." 

"  I  think  I  caught  a  foreign  name,"  he  remarked. 
"  You  are  paying  a  visit  to  London  ?  I  hope  our  capital 
makes  an  agreeable  impression  upon  you." 

"  The  visit  has  been  of  such  long  duration,"  Iglesias 
answered,  "  that  impressions  have,  I  am  afraid,  become 
slightly  blurred  by  usage." 

"  Ah !  indeed — no  doubt  that  happens  in  some  measure 
to  all  of  us.  I  am  to  understand  that  you  are  a  resident?  " 

Iglesias  assented. 

"  In  this  district?  " 

Again  he  assented. 

"  Indeed.  Really,  I  wish  I  had  known  it  sooner.  It 
always  gives  me  pleasure  to  meet  persons  of  another 
nationality  than  my  own.  Intercourse  with  them  makes 
for  liberality  of  view.  It  often  dispels  anti-English 
prejudice.  I  am  always  glad  to  be  helpful  to  strangers." 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  Iglesias  said  with  gravity. 

"  Not  at  all — not  at  all.  I  hold  very  practical  views 
not  only  regarding  the  duties  of  the  Englishman  to  the 
alien,  but  of  the  pastor  towards  his  flock.  But  I  find  it 
almost  impossible,  I  regret  to  say,  to  become  personally 
acquainted  with  all  my  parishioners.  My  curates  are 
capital  young  fellows — earnest,  active,  go-ahead.  But  in 
a  large  area  such  as  this  there  is  always  a  shifting  popula- 
tion with  which  the  clergy,  however  energetic,  find  it  dif- 
ficult to  keep  in  touch.  We  are  obliged  to  discriminate 
between  dwellers  and  sojourners.  As  soon  as  any  person 
is  proved  to  be  a  bona  fide  dweller  my  curates  pass  his  or 
her  name  on  to  me,  and  either  I  or  my  wife  call  in  due 
course." 

Dominic  Iglesias  permitted  himself  to  smile. 


68  THE     FAR    HORIZON 

"  An  excellent  system,  no  doubt,"  he  remarked. 

"  I  find  it  works  very  well  on  the  whole.  But  no  system 
is  infallible.  There  must  be  occasional  oversights,  and 
you  have  been  the  victim  of  one.  I  mention  this  to  dis- 
abuse your  mind  of  the  idea  of  any  intentional  neglect. 
Well,  Mrs.  Lovegrove,  and  so  our  good  friends  Mrs. 
Porcher  and  Miss  Hart  have  gone — estimable  women  both 
of  them  in  their  own  line.  I  ought  to  be  running  away, 
too,  and  I  have  just  been  having  a  word  with  your  other 
guest  here,  Mr. — 

"  Iglesias,"  Dominic  put  in  coldly.  He  was  in  a  state  of 
pretty  high  displeasure.  To  hear  his  name  mispronounced 
might,  he  felt,  precipitate  a  catastrophe. 

"Iglesias? — ah!  yes,  thank  you — I  have  been  explain- 
ing to  Mr.  Iglesias  our  system  of  parochial  visiting  and 
quoting  our  well-known  joke  about  the  dwellers  and  so- 
journers.  You  remember  it?  He  has,  I  regret  to  find, 
been  counted  among  the  latter,  while  he  has  qualified  as 
one  of  the  former.  The  mistake  must  be  remedied.  Well, 
good-by  to  you,  Mrs.  Lovegrove;  I  shall  see  your  good 
husband  on  my  way  downstairs.  Good-day  to  you,  Mr. 
Iglesias.  I  shall  hope  to  meet  you  again." 

And  with  that  he,  and  the  encompassing  sound  of  him, 
moved  towards  the  door.  Mrs.  Lovegrove  subsided  upon 
the  sofa.  The  supreme  glory  had  departed,  yet  an  after- 
glow from  the  effulgence  of  it  remained  in  her  beaming 
face  as  she  looked  up  at  Mr.  Iglesias. 

"  It  was  a  good  fairy  that  brought  you  in  so  early 
to-day,"  she  said.  "  Really,  I  am  pleased  you  should  have 
had  the  chance  to  meet  Dr.  Nevington.  And  I  could  see 
he  was  quite  taken  with  you,  by  the  way  he  began  to  talk 
before  I  had  the  chance  to  introduce  you.  But  that's  the 
vicar  all  over!  He  never  is  one  to  stand  upon  ceremony." 

"  So  I  can  believe,"  Dominic  said. 

"  You  saw  it?    Ah,  part  of  his  thoughtfulness,  wanting 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  69 

to  put  everybody  at  their  ease.  And  I'm  sure  if  there's 
one  thing  more  disheartening  than  another,  it  is  to  have 
two  of  your  friends  standing  up  side  by  side,  as  stiff  as  a 
couple  of  pokers,  without  so  much  as  a  word.  I  know  I 
am  too  ready  to  enter  into  conversation  with  strangers ; 
but  if  there  is  a  thing  I  cannot  bear,  it's  any  appearance 
of  coolness." 

She  passed  her  handkerchief  round  her  forehead  and 
across  her  lips.  She  was  marshalling  her  energies  for  a 
daring  effort. 

"Very  warm,  is  it  not?"  she  remarked,  perhaps 
superfluously.  Then  she  came  to  the  point.  "  I  know  you 
are  not  very  much  of  a  churchgoer,  Mr.  Iglesias." 

"  I  am  afraid  not  " — he  paused  a  moment.  "  You  see, 
I  was  born  and  brought  up  in  another  faith." 

"  Yes — so  George  has  told  me.  But  I  am  sure  none 
of  us  would  ever  be  so  illiberal  as  to  throw  that  up  against 
you.  The  vicar  has  been  talking  so  beautifully  about 
Christian  charity;  and  we  all  know  it  was  a  thing  you 
could  not  help.  It  was  your  misfortune,  anybody  would 
understand  that,  not  your  fault.  Too,  it's  all  over  long 
ago  and  forgotten." 

Dominic  looked  rather  hard  at  her ;  but  it  was  clear  her 
words  were  innocent  of  any  intention  of  offence. 

"  I  suppose  it  is,"  he  said  sadly,  Old  Age  and  Loneliness 
laying  their  hands  upon  him,  for  some  reason,  very  sen- 
sibly once  again. 

"  Not  that  that's  anything  to  be  otherwise  than  thank- 
ful for,"  she  added,  with  a  slightly  misplaced  effort  at 
consolation.  "  Of  course  anyone  must  feel  how  provi- 
dential it  is  to  be  saved  from  all  those  terrible  false  doc- 
trines and  practices — not  that  I  know  anything  about 
them.  There's  so  much,  don't  you  think,  it  is  so  much 
better  not  to  know  anything  about.  Then  one  feels  more 
at  liberty  to  speak." 


70  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

Mr.  Iglesias  smiled. 

"  I  am  not  sure  that  the  matter  had  occurred  from 
exactly  that  point  of  view  before." 

"  Really  now,  and  a  clever  person  like  you ! "  Mrs. 
Lovegrove  passed  her  handkerchief  across  her  forehead 
again.  "  George  has  a  wonderful  opinion  of  your  clever- 
ness, you  know.  And  that  is  why  I  have  always  wished 
you  and  the  vicar  could  be  brought  together.  I  have — 
yes,  I  own  to  it — I  have  been  afraid  sometimes  you  were 
a  little  unsettled  about  religion,  and  that  it  might  unsettle 
Georgie,  too.  But  I  knew  if  you  once  met  the  vicar  that 
would  all  be  set  right.  As  I  often  say  to  George,  let  any- 
body just  see  Dr.  Nevington  and  then  they  will  begin  to 
have  an  inkling  of  all  they  miss  in  not  hearing  him  in  the 
pulpit." 

But  here,  perhaps  fortunately,  the  master  of  the  house 
trotted  back.  He,  too,  beamed.  He  was  filled  with  inno- 
cent rejoicing.  Had  he  not  successfully  protected  the 
wife's  feelings,  and  was  not  Iglesias — who  remained  to  him 
a  wonderful  being,  stirring  whatever  element  of  romance 
might  be  resident  in  his  guileless  nature — present  in 
person  ? 

"Why,  what's  the  meaning  of  this,  Dominic?"  he 
chuckled.  "  You've  turned  over  a  new  leaf,  gadding  round 
to  at-home  days!  Where's  Threadneedle  Street?  What's 
come  over  you?  " 

"Threadneedle  Street  and  I  have  agreed  to  part 
company." 

"What,  for  good?  Never?"  this  from  both  husband 
and  wife. 

"  Yes,  for  good,"  Iglesias  said. 

Mr.  Lovegrove  ceased  to  beam.  He  became  anxious 
again,  and  consequently  solemn. 

"  Well,  you  do  surprise  me,"  he  said.  "  Nothing  gone 
wrong,  I  trust?  Not  any  unpleasantness  happened?  " 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  71 

"  Nofle,"  Iglesias  answered.  In  breaking  the  news  to 
these  kindly  but  rudimentary  souls  he  had  determined  to 
treat  it  very  lightly.  "  I  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that 
I  have  Worked  long  enough.  It  is  a  mistake  to  risk  dying 
in  harness.  You  retired,  Lovegrove,  three  years  ago.  I 
am  going  to  look  about  me  a  little  and  see  what  the  rest  of 
the  world  is  doing." 

"  You'll  miss  the  bank,  and  feel  a  little  strange  at  first. 
Geprgie  did,  though  he  had  his  home  to  interest  him,"  Mrs. 
Lovegrove  remarked. 

"  Undoubtedly  George  was  more  fortunate  than  I  am," 
Iglesiac  replied,  in  his  most  courtly  manner. 

"  Not  but  that  all  that  could  be  easily  remedied,"  she 
added,  with  a  touch  of  archness.  Then  Mr.  Iglesias 
thought  it  time  to  depart.  In  the  hall  his  host  held  him, 
literally  by  the  buttonhole,  looking  up  with  squinting  blue 
eyes  into  his  face. 

"  It's  all  rather  sudden,  Dominic,"  he  said.  "  I  do  not 
want  to  intrude  upon  your  confidence ;  but  if  there  is  any- 
thing behind,  anything  in  which  I  can  help  ?  " 

Mr.  Iglesias  shook  his  head. 

"  Nothing,  my  good  old  friend,"  he  said. 

"  The  wife's  right,  you  know.  You'll  miss  the  bank, 
the  regular  hours,  and  the  occupation.  She's  quite  right. 
I  did  at  first." 

"  I  know.  But  already  I  have  pretty  well  got  through 
that  phase,  I  think." 

"  Ah,  you  have  a  bigger  mind  than  mine.  You  can  rise 
to  a  wider  view.  Change  affects  a  commonplace  man  like 
myself  most.  I  was  dreadfully  lost  at  first — more  than 
the  wife  knew.  Females  are  very  sensitive,  and  it  would 
have  hurt  her  to  know  all  I  felt.  If  the  Almighty  is  good 
enough  to  give  a  man  a  faithful  woman  to  look  after  him, 
he  can't  be  too  scrupulous  in  sparing  her  pain — at  least, 
so  I  think."  Suddenly  his  tone  changed.  "  But  you  are 


72  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

not  going  to  leave  us,  Dominic? — you  are  not  going  to 
move,  I  do  hope  ?  " 

He  was  mindful  of  his  promise  to  Eliza  Hart,  but  he 
was  also  mindful  of  himself.  It  had  occurred  to  him  for 
how  very  much  in  the  interest  and  pleasure  of  his  life 
Dominic  Iglesias  really  stood. 

"  Why,  should  you  regret  my  going  ?  Should  you  miss 
me  ?  "  the  other  asked,  struck  by  his  tone. 

"  Miss  you,"  he  said,  "  and  after  a  friendship  covering 
forty  years !  I  know  you  are  my  superior  in  every  way. 
I  know  I  am  not  on  your  level.  All  the  advantage  is  on 
my  side  in  our  friendship,  always  has  been.  But  that  is 
just  where  it  is.  Why,  you  know,  Dominic — next  to  the 
wife  of  course — all  along  you  have  been  the  best  thing  I 
had." 

Then  it  came  to  Iglesias,  looking  down  at  him,  that 
among  the  many  millions  of  his  fellow-mortals,  this  whim- 
sical childlike  being  stood  nearest  to  him  in  sympathy  and 
in  love.  The  thought  moved  him  strangely,  at  once  deep- 
ening his  sense  of  isolation  and  lessening  the  load  of  it. 

"  In  that  case  I  will  not  move.  I  will  stay  here,  at 
Trimmer's  Green,"  he  said. 

When  Mr.  Lovegrove  reentered  the  sun-faded  drawing- 
room  his  wife  greeted  him  in  these  words: 

"Well,  I  have  been  thinking  it  all  over,  Georgie,  and 
we  shall  only  be  doing  our  duty  by  Mr.  Iglesias  if  we  send 
for  your  cousin  Serena.  For  my  part,  I  don't  trust  Mrs. 
Porcher.  Did  you  see  that  fly-away  blue  bow?  Those 
who  seem  so  soft  are  often  the  deepest.  And  widows  have 
all  sorts  of  little  cunning  ways  with  them."  She  rose  from 
the  thrice  happy  sofa.  "  I  was  gratified  to  have  Dr. 
Nevington  and  Mr.  Iglesias  meet.  But  we  certainly  will 
have  to  send  for  Serena,"  she  said. 


jt 

CHAPTER    VII 

MR.  IGLESIAS  crossed  Trimmer's  Green  in  the  dusty 
sunshine.  He  had  engaged  to  stay;  and,  indeed,  he 
asked  himself  what  person,  what  objects  or  interests 
there  were  to  take  him  else-whither  ?  Nevertheless,  the 
promise  seemed,  somehow,  a  limiting  of  possibility 
and  of  hope.  It  was  destiny.  London,  very  evidently, 
having  got  him,  did  not  mean  to  let  him  go.  And  Lon- 
don was  not  attractive  this  evening,  but  blowzy  and  jaded 
from  the  heat.  He  passed  on  into  the  great  thorough- 
fare and  turned  eastward,  absorbed  in  thought.  Chil- 
dren cried.  A  pungent  scent  of  over-ripe  fruit  came 
from  barrows  in  the  roadway  and  open  doors  of  green- 
grocers' shops.  Tempers  appeared  to  be  on  edge. 
Workmen,  pouring  out  from  a  big  block  of  flats  under 
construction  on  the  left,  jostled  him  in  passing,  not  in 
insolence,  but  simply  in  inattention.  Their  language  was 
starred  with  sanguinary  adjectives.  The  noise  of  the 
traffic  was  loud.  Iglesias  turned  up  one  of  the  side 
streets  leading  on  to  Camden  Hill.  It  was  quieter  here 
and  the  air  was  a  trifle  purer.  Halfway  up  the  hill  he 
hesitated.  There  was  a  shrine  to  be  visited  in  these 
regions — in  it  stood  an  altar  of  the  dead.  And  above 
that  altar,  in  Iglesias'  imagination,  hung  the  picture  of 
a  woman,  beautiful,  and,  to  him,  infinitely  sad. 

He  turned  eastward  again  and  made  his  way  into 
Holland  Street.  He  rarely  had  the  courage  to  go  back 
there.  He  had  never  reentered  the  house.  But  this 
evening  he  was  taken  by  the  desire  to  look  on  it  all  once 
again.  For  he  was  still  pursued  by  the  disquieting  ques- 
tion as  to  whether  he  had  shirked  the  possibilities  of  his 
life,  or  had  sacrificed  them  to  a  higher  duty  than  any 

73 


74  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

duty  of  personal  development.  If  the  latter,  however 
barren  of  active  happiness  both  past  and  present,  he 
would  be  in  his  own  eyes  justified,  and  desolation  would 
cease  to  have  in  it  any  flavour  of  self -contempt.  Perhaps 
this  dwelling-place  of  his  childhood,  youth,  and  what 
should  have  been  the  best  of  his  manhood,  might  help  to 
answer  the  question  and  set  his  doubts  at  rest. 

A  board — "  To  Let " — was  up  on  the  narrow  iron  bal- 
cony of  the  dining-room.  Iglesias  rang,  and  after  brief 
parley  with  the  caretaker — &  neat  bald-headed  little  old 
man,  in  carpet  slippers  and  a  well-brushed  once-smart 
brown  check  suit,  altogether  too  capacious  for  his  atten- 
uated person — was  admitted. 

"  The  place  is  quite  empty  save  for  my  bits  of  sticks 
in  the  basement,  sir,"  he  said.  "  You  are  at  liberty  to 
go  where  you  please.  I  am  afflicted  with  the  asthma  and 
am  glad  to  avoid  mounting  the  stairs."  He  ended  up 
with  a  husky  little  cough.  So  Iglesias  passed  through 
the  vacant  house  unattended. 

He  received  a  pathetic  yet  agitating  impression.  The 
rooms  were  even  smaller  than  he  had  supposed.  They 
were  gloomy,  too,  from  the  worn  paint  of  the  high  wains- 
cots and  discoloration  of  the  low  ceilings.  All  the  win- 
dows were  shut  and  the  atmosphere  was  close  and  faint. 
The  corners  were  thick  with  crouching  shadows,  merely 
awaiting  the  cover  of  night,  as  it  seemed  to  Iglesias,  to 
take  definite  shape,  stand  upright,  and  come  forth  to 
possess  and  people  all  the  house.  Even  now  it  belonged 
so  sensibly  to  them  that  his  own  reverent  footsteps 
sounded  to  him  harshly  intrusive  upon  the  bare,  uneven 
floors.  At  intervals,  downstairs  in  the  basement,  he  could 
hear  the  little  old  caretaker's  husky  cough. 

And  it  was  strange  to  him  to  consider  what  those 
crouching  shadows  might  represent.  Not  the  ghosts  of 
human  beings — in  such  he  had  small  belief — but  an  after- 


THE     FAR    HORIZON  75 

math  of  human  emotions,  purposes,  and  passions,  formu- 
lated or  endured  in  this  apparently  so  innocent  place. 
To  his  knowledge  the  origins  of  revolution  had  seethed 
here.  The  walls  had  listened  to  details  of  political  in- 
trigue, of  projected  assassination,  to  vehement  declara- 
tions of  undying  hate.  Of  the  men  who  had  plotted  and 
dreamed  here,  uplifted  in  spirit  by  the  magic  of  terrible 
ideas,  none  were  left.  One  by  one  they  had  gone  out 
into  the  silence  to  meet  death,  swift-handed  or  heartlessly 
lingering,  as  the  case  might  be.  And  what  had  they 
actually  accomplished?  he  asked  himself.  Had  their 
death,  often  as  must  be  surmised  of  a  sufficiently  hideous 
sort,  really  advanced  the  cause  of  humanity  and  helped 
on  the  birth  of  that  Golden  Age,  in  which  Justice  shall 
reign  alongside  Peace?  Or  had  these  men  merely  wasted 
themselves,  adding  to  the  sum  total  of  human  confusion 
and  wrong;  and  wasted  the  hearts  and  happiness  of  those 
allied  to  them  by  ties  of  friendship  and  of  blood,  leaving 
the  second  generation  to  repair,  in  so  far  as  it  might, 
the  ruin  which  their  violence  had  worked?  Dominic  Igle- 
sias  could  not  say.  But  this  at  least,  though  it  savoured 
of  reproach,  he  could  not  disguise  from  himself — namely, 
that  out  of  the  intemperate  heat  and  fierceness  of  these 
men's  thought  and  action  had  come,  as  a  necessary  conse- 
quence, the  narrow  opportunities  and  cold  isolation  of 
his  own. 

"  As  physically,  so  morally,  spiritually,  socially,"  he 
said  to  himself,  "  the  younger  generation  pays  the  debts 
contracted  by  the  generation  immediately  preceding  it. 
Justice,  indeed,  reigns  already,  always  has  done  so — 
justice  of  a  rather  tremendous  sort.  But  peace? — Peace 
is  still  very  much  to  seek,  both  for  the  individual  and 
the  race." 

Iglesias  visited  his  mother's  bed-chamber.  He  visited 
his  former  nursery.  Then  he  visited  the  drawing-room. 


76  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

the  heart  of  this  very  pathetic  shrine  where  the  altar  of 
his  dead  was,  almost  visibly  set  up.  To  this  room,  during 
the  many  years  of  his  mother's  mental  illness,  he  had 
come  back  daily  after  work;  and  had  ministered  to  her, 
suiting  his  speech  to  her  passing  humour,  trying  to  dis- 
tract her  brooding  melancholy,  and  to  soothe  and  amuse 
her  as  though  she  was  an  ailing  child.  Thank  God,  there 
was  nothing  ugly  to  remember  regarding  her.  She  had 
never  been  harsh  or  unlovely  in  her  ways.  Still,  the  strain 
of  constant  intercourse  with  her  had  been  very  great — 
how  great  Iglesias  had  hardly  realised  until  now,  as  he 
stood  in  the  centre  of  the  room  reconstructing  its  former 
appearance  in  thought  and  replacing  its  familiar  fur- 
nishings. 

There  to  the  left  of  the  further  window,  overlooking 
the  garden,  she  had  always  sat,  so  that  the  light 
might  fall  upon  her  needlework — very  fine  Irish  lace, 
in  the  making  of  which  nearly  all  her  waking  hours  were 
spent.  She  had  learned  the  beautiful  art  as  a  young  girl 
in  her  convent  school;  and  her  skill  in  it  was  great.  In 
those  sad  later  years  when  her  mind  was  clouded  the 
intricate  designs  and  endless  variety  of  delicate  and 
ingenious  stitches  had  come  to  have  symbolic  meanings 
for  her  full  of  mystic  significance.  In  them  she  poured 
forth  her  soul,  as  another  might  pour  it  forth  in  music, 
finding  there  an  imaginative  language  far  surpassing,  in 
its  subtlety  of  suggestion,  articulate  speech.  There  were 
deserts  of  net,  of  spider's  web  fineness,  to  be  laboriously 
traversed;  hills  of  difficulty  to  be  climbed,  whence  far 
horizons  disclosed  themselves;  dainty  flower-gardens, 
crossed  by  open  paths,  and  hedged  about  with  curves, 
sinuous  and  full  of  pretty  impediments.  And  there  were, 
to  her,  vaguely  agitating  and  even  fearful  things  in  this 
lacework  also — confusions  of  outline,  broken  purposes, 
multiplicity  of  opposing  intentions,  struggle  of  good  and 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  77 

evil  powers  in  the  intricacies  of  some  rich  arabesque;  or 
monotonous  repetitions  of  design  which  distressed  her  as 
with  the  terrors  of  imprisonment  and  of  unescapable  fate. 
She  was  filled  with  feverish  anxiety  until  such  portions 
of  her  self-imposed  task  were  completed.  Then  she  would 
be  very  glad.  And  Iglesias,  glancing  up  silently  from 
the  pages  of  his  newspaper  or  book,  would  see  the  sorrow 
pass  out  of  her  face  as  she  leaned  back  in  her  chair  and 
softly  laughed.  And  he  would  perceive  that,  in  the 
achievement  of  those  countless  but  carefully  ordered 
stitches,  she  had  also  achieved  some  mysterious  victory 
of  the  spirit  which,  for  a  time  at  least,  would  give  her 
freedom  of  soul  and  content.  As  a  boy  he  had  been 
rather  jealous  of  her  lacemaking,  declaring  that  it  was 
dearer  to  her  than  he  himself  was.  But  as  he  grew  more 
experienced,  more  chastened,  and,  it  must  be  added,  more 
sad,  he  had  come  to  understand  that  it  veritably  was  as 
speech  to  her — though  speech  which  he  could  but  rarely 
interpret — expressing  all  that  she  could  not,  or  dared 
not,  otherwise  express,  all  the  poetry  of  her  sweet,  broken 
nature,  its  denied  aspirations  in  religion,  its  tortured 
memories  of  danger  and  of  love. 

Now,  standing  in  the  centre  of  the  empty  room,  and 
looking  at  the  place  beside  the  window  where  she  habitu- 
ally sat,  Iglesias  seemed  to  see  once  more,  as  he  had  so 
often  seen  in  the  past,  her  fine-drawn  profile  and  softly 
waved  upturned  hair,  her  head  and  shoulders  draped  in 
a  black  mantilla,  the  lines  of  which  followed  those  of  her 
figure  as  she  bent  over  her  work.  He  could  see  the  long 
delicate  white  hands  moving  rhythmically,  with  the  assur- 
ance of  perfected  skill,  over  the  web  in  its  varying  degrees 
of  whiteness  from  the  filmy  transparency  of  the  net  foun- 
dation to  the  opacity  of  the  closely  wrought  pattern. 
Those  hands,  in  their  ceaseless  and  exquisite  industry, 
had  troubled  his  imagination  at  times.  For  too  often 


78  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

it  had  seemed  as  though  they  alone  were  really  alive,  in- 
telligent, sentient,  the  rest  of  the  woman  dead.  The 
impression  was  so  vivid  even  yet — though  Iglesias  knew 
it  to  be  subjective  only,  projected  by  the  vividness  of 
remembrance — that  instinctively  he  crossed  the  room,  laid 
his  left  hand  upon  the  moulding  of  the  high  wainscot, 
leaned  over  the  vacant  space  which  appeared  to  hold  her 
image,  and  spoke  gently  to  her,  so  that  the  moving  hands 
might  find  rest  for  a  moment,  while  she  recognised  and 
greeted  him,  looking  up. 

There  had  always  been  a  pause  before  the  words  of 
greeting  came,  while  her  consciousness  travelled  back, 
hesitatingly,  to  the  actual  and  material  world  around  her 
from  the  world  of  emotion  and  phantasy  in  which  her 
spirit  lived.  There  was  a  pause  now,  a  prolonged  silence, 
broken  at  last  by  the  husky  cough  of  the  little  old  care- 
taker downstairs.  The  vacant  space  remained  vacant. 
Nevertheless  Dominic  Iglesias  received  both  recognition 
and  greeting,  and  from  these  derived  inward  assurance 
that  all  was  well — that  he  was  justified  of  his  past  action, 
that  he  had  not  shirked  the  possibilities  of  his  life,  but 
sacrificed  them  to  a  higher  duty  than  any  individual  and 
private  one.  The  present  might  be  empty  of  purpose  and 
pleasure,  the  future  lacking  in  promise  and  in  hope;  yet 
to  him  one  perfect  thing  had  been  granted — namely, 
a  human  relationship  of  unsullied  beauty,  notwithstanding 
all  its  sadness,  from  first  to  last. 

"  And  in  the  strength  of  that  meat,  one  should  surely 
be  able  to  go  many  days !  "  he  said,  as  he  straightened 
himself  up.  "  Thank  God,  I  never  failed  her.  How  far 
she  realised  it  or  not,  is  but  a  small  matter.  I  am  ob- 
scure, perhaps  as  things  now  stand  wholly  superfluous, 
still  I  have,  at  all  events,  never  grasped  personal  advan- 
tage at  the  expense  of  a  fellow-creature's  heart." 

Yet,  even  so,  the  longing  for  sympathy  and  companion- 


THE    FAR    HORIZON  79 

ship  oppressed  him  as  never  before.  The  sight  of  this 
place  had  stirred  his  affections  and  his  spiritual  sense. 
His  soul  cried  out  for  some  language  in  which  to  express 
itself — even  though  it  were  a  language  of  symbol  only, 
such  as  his  mother  had  found  in  her  lacemaking.  How 
barren  and  vapid  a  thing  was  the  exterior  life,  as  all 
those  whom  he  knew  understood  and  lived  it — his  co- 
lodgers,  his  fellow-clerks,  the  good  Lovegroves,  his  late 
employer,  Sir  Abel  Barking,  even,  as  he  divined,  that 
sonorous  Protestant  clergyman  whom  he  had  met  this 
afternoon — as  against  the  interior  life,  suggestion  of 
which  this  vacant  shadow-haunted  house  of  innumerable 
memories  presented  to  his  mind!  Was  there  any  method 
by  which  the  interior  and  exterior  life  could  be  brought 
into  sane  and  fruitful  relation,  so  that  the  former  might 
sensibly  permeate  and  dignify  the  latter? 

The  comfortable  inward  conviction,  just  vouchsafed 
him,  that  he  was  justified  of  his  own  past  action,  merely 
emphasised  his  consciousness  that  he  was  still  very  much 
adrift,  with  no  definite  port  to  steer  for.  He  had,  per- 
haps unwisely,  promised  George  Lovegrove  that  he  would 
stay  on  at  Trimmer's  Green,  but  what,  after  all,  did  that 
amount  to?  Even  the  exterior  life  was  second-hand 
enough  there;  the  interior  life,  as  he  judged,  practically 
non-existent.  And  so  his  staying  must  be  ennobled 
by  some  purpose  beyond  that  of  stepping  across  to 
smoke  an  after-dinner  pipe  with  the  good,  affection- 
ate Lovegrove  man,  or  attending  his  estimable  wife's 
"  at  homes."  During  the  last  ten  days  Mr.  Iglesias 
had  striven,  with  rare,  pathetic  diligence,  to  culti- 
vate amusement.  True,  the  oak  palings  had  shut 
him  out  from  Ranelagh;  but,  with  that  and  a  few 
other  exceptions,  amusement,  as  practised  in  great  cities, 
5s  merely  a  matter  of  cash.  Therefore  he  had  dined  at 
smart  restaurants,  had  sampled  theatres  and  music  halls, 


80  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

had  sat  in  the  Park  and  watched  the  world  and — in  their 
more  decent  manifestations — the  flesh  and  the  devil  drive 
by.  He  had  to  admit  that  unfortunately  all  this  left  him 
cold,  had  bored  rather  than  entertained  him.  He  had 
not  felt  out  of  place  socially.  His  natural  dignity  and 
detachment  of  mind  were  alike  too  strong  for  that ;  but  he 
had  arrived  at  the  conclusion  that  you  must  have  learned 
the  rudiments  of  the  art  of  amusement  in  early  youth  if 
you  are  to  practise  it  with  satisfaction  to  yourself  in 
middle-age.  And  he  very  certainly  had  not  learned  the 
rudiments — not,  anyhow,  according  to  the  English  fash- 
ion. He  had  been  aware,  during  these  social  excursions, 
that  he  was  a  good  deal  stared  at  and  even  commented  on. 
At  first  he  supposed  this  arose  from  some  peculiarity  of 
his  dress  or  manner.  Then  he  understood  that  the  cause 
of  this  unsolicited  attention  bore  a  more  flattering  char- 
acter, and  in  this  connection  certain  remarks  made  by 
the  Lady  of  the  Windswept  Dust  occurred  to  his  mind. 
But,  Mr.  Iglesias'  pride  being  greatly  in  excess  of  his 
vanity — when  the  first  moment  of  half-humorous  surprise 
was  passed — he  found  that  these  tributes  to  his  personal 
appearance  afforded  him  more  displeasure  than  pleasure. 
He  turned  from  them  with  a  movement  of  annoyance, 
and  turned  from  those  places  in  which  they  were  liable 
to  manifest  themselves  likewise.  No,  indeed,  it  was  some- 
thing other  than  this  he  had  to  find,  something  lying  far 
deeper  in  the  needs  of  human  nature,  if  the  emptiness  of 
his  days  was  to  be  filled  and  the  hunger  of  his  heart  and 
spirit  satisfied! 

Pondering  which  things  he  went  down  the  creaking 
stairs  of  the  house  in  Holland  Street,  Kensington,  leaving 
the  empty  and,  to  him,  sacred  rooms  to  the  crouching 
shadows.  He  had  had  his  answer  from  the  one  person 
whom  he  had  perfectly  loved.  And  surely,  in  justifying  the 
past,  that  answer  gave  promise  of  hope  for  the  future? 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  81 

The  way  would  be  made  clear,  the  method  would  declare 
itself.  Let  him  have  patience,  only  patience,  as  she,  his 
mother,  had  had  when  traversing  deserts  and  climbing 
Difficulty  Hill  in  her  lacework;  and  to  him,  also,  should 
far  horizons  be  disclosed. 

In  the  narrow  hall  the  neat  little  old  caretaker  met 
him,  huskily  coughing. 

'*  The  rent  is  low,  sir,"  he  said,  "  and  the  landlord  is 
asking  no  premium.  If  you  should  wish  further  particu- 
lars, or  to  inspect  the  offices "' 

But  Mr.  Iglesias  put  a  couple  of  half-crowns  into  his 
hand. 

"  No,"  he  answered,  "  I  do  not  propose  to  take  the 
house.  Persons  who  were  dear  to  me  lived  here  once; 
and  so  I  wanted  to  see  it.  As  long  as  it  is  unlet  I  may 
come  back  from  time  to  time." 

The  old  man  shuffled  his  slippered  feet  upon  the  bare 
boards,  looking  with  mild  ecstasy  at  the  coins. 

"  And  you  will  be  most  welcome,  sir,"  he  said.  "  Your 
generosity  happens  to  be  of  great  assistance  to  me — not 
that  I  wish  it  repeated.  I  am  not  grasping,  sir,  but  I 
am  grateful.  I  have  a  taste  in  literature  which  my  re- 
duced circumstances  do  not  allow  me  to  gratify.  I  see 
the  prospect  of  many  hours'  enjoyment  before  me.  I 
thank  you." 


CHAPTER   VIII 

AND  so  it  came  about  that  a  more  tranquil  spirit, 
touched  with  sober  gladness,  possessed  Dominic  Igle- 
sias  as,  leaving  that  house  of  many  memories,  he  pursued 
his  way  down  Church  Street  and,  passing  into  Kensington 
High  Street  opposite  St.  Mary  Abbot's  Church,  turned 
eastward  once  again.  A  few  doors  short  of  the  gateway 
leading  into  Palace  Gardens  was  an  unpretentious  Italian 
restaurant  where  he  proposed  to  dine.  For  it  grew  late. 
He  had  spent  longer  than  he  had  supposed  in  wordless 
prayer  before  the  altar  of  his  dead.  The  remembrance  of 
the  book-loving  little  caretaker's  gratitude  remained  by 
him  pleasantly,  softening  his  humour  towards  all  his 
fellow-men.  Simple  kindness  has  great  virtue,  uplifting 
to  the  heart.  To  Iglesias  it  seemed  those  five  shillings 
had  been  eminently  well  invested. 

The  streets  were  clearer  now;  and  he  walked  slowly, 
enjoying  the  cooler  air  born  of  the  sunset,  and  drawing 
from  the  leafy  spaces  of  Kensington  Gardens  and  the 
park.  Presently  he  became  aware  of  a  figure,  not  alto- 
gether unfamiliar,  threading  its  way  among  the  inter- 
mittent stream  of  pedestrians  along  the  pavement  a  few 
paces  ahead.  His  eyes  followed  it  reluctantly.  In  his 
present  peaceful  humour  its  aspect  struck  a  jarring  note. 
Soiled  white  flannel  trousers,  a  short  blue  boating  coat,  a 
soft  grey  felt  hat,  tennis  shoes,  a  shambling  and  uncertain 
gait  as  of  one  who  neither  knows  nor  cares  whither  he  is 
going  or  why  he  goes — the  whole  effect  purposeless, 
slovenly,  inept. 

Then  followed  a  little  scene  which  caused  Iglesias  to 
further  slacken  his  pace.  For  the  seedy  figure,  reaching 

82 


THE     FAR    HORIZON  83 

the  open  door  of  the  restaurant,  hesitated,  standing  be- 
tween the  clipped  bay  trees  set  in  green  tubs  which  flanked 
the  entrance  on  either  hand.  Stepped  aside,  craning 
upward  to  see  over  the  yellow  silk  curtains  drawn  across 
the  lower  half  of  the  windows.  Moved  back  to  the  door 
and  stood  there  undecided.  Finally,  as  a  smiling  waiter, 
napkin  on  arm,  came  forward,  the  man  crushed  his  hat 
down  on  his  forehead,  forced  his  hands  deep  into  his  trou- 
ser  pockets  and  turned  away  with  an  audible  oath.  This 
brought  him  face  to  face  with  Mr.  Iglesias,  who  recog- 
nised in  him  his  fellow-lodger,  Mr.  de  Courcy  Smyth. 

"  What,  you ! "  he  exclaimed  snarlingly,  while  his 
pasty  face  flamed.  "  There  seems  no  escape  from  our 
dear  Cedar  Lodge  to-night." 

Then  with  an  uneasy  laugh  he  made  an  effort  to 
recover  himself. 

"  Really,  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Iglesias,"  he  con- 
tinued, "  but  my  nerves  are  villainously  on  edge.  I  have 
just  met  those  two  young  idiots,  Farge  and  Worthing- 
ton,  waltzing  home  arm  in  arm  like  a  pair  of  demented 
turtle-doves.  Having  to  associate  with  such  third-rate 
commercial  fellows  and  witness  their  ebullitions  of  mutual 
admiration  makes  a  man  of  education,  like  myself,  utterly 
sick.  I  came  out  this  evening  to  get  free  of  the  whole 
Cedar  Lodge  lot.  You  did  the  same,  I  suppose.  Pray 
don't  let  me  frustrate  your  purpose.  I  sympathise  with 
it.  I  will  remove  myself." 

The  splotchy  red  had  died  out  of  the  speaker's  face. 
Notwithstanding  the  warmth  of  the  evening  he  stood  with 
his  shoulders  raised  and  his  knees  a  little  bent,  as  a  poorly 
clad  man  stands  in  a  chill  wind  on  a  wintry  day.  Igle- 
sias observed  his  attitude,  and  in  his  present  mood  it  influ- 
enced him  more  than  the  surly  greeting  had  done. 

"  I  intended  to  dine  here,"  he  said  quietly.  "  So,  I 
fancy,  did  you." 


84  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

"Oh!  I  have  changed  my  mind,  thank  you,"  Smyth 
answered. 

"  In  consequence  of  my  arrival,  I  am  afraid?  " 

"  No,  I  had  other  reasons." 

"  In  any  case  I  should  be  very  glad  if  you  would 
reconsider  your  decision  and  remain,"  Dominic  said.  "  I 
am,  as  you  see,  alone,  and  I  have  not  often  the  pleasure 
of  meeting  you.  I  shall  be  very  happy  if  you  will  stay 
and  dine  with  me,  as  my  guest." 

Smyth  gave  an  odd,  furtive  look  at  the  open  door  of 
the  restaurant  and  the  row  of  white  tables  within.  A 
light  had  come  into  his  pale  blue  eyes,  making  them 
uncomfortably  like  those  of  some  half-starved  animal. 

"  I  am  at  a  loss  to  know  why  I  should  accept  hospitality 
from  you,"  he  remarked,  at  once  cringingly  and  in- 
solently. 

"  Simply  because  you  would  give  me  pleasure  by  doing 
so.  I  should  value  your  society." 

"  I  am  not  in  evening  dress." 

"  Nor  am  I,"  Dominic  answered,  with  admirable  seri- 
ousness. There  was  something  pitiful  to  him  in  the 
conflict,  obviously  going  forward  in  the  other's  mind, 
between  hunger  and  reluctance  to  incur  an  obligation. 
He  cut  it  short  with  gentle  authority.  "  There  is  a 
vacant  table  in  the  corner  where  we  can  talk  free  from 
interruption.  Let  us  go  in  and  secure  it." 

At  the  beginning  of  the  meal  the  conversation  was 
intermittent,  the  burden  of  supporting  it  lying  with  Mr. 
Iglesias.  But,  as  course  followed  course,  hot  and  succu- 
lent, while  the  chianti  at  once  steadied  his  circulation  and 
stimulated  his  brain,  de  Courcy  Smyth  became  talkative, 
not  to  say  garrulous.  Finally  he  began  to  assert  himself, 
to  swagger,  thereby  laying  bare  the  waste  places  of  his 
own  nature. 

"  You  may  think  I  was  hard  on  Farge  and  Worthing- 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  85 

ton  just  now,  Mr.  Iglesias,"  he  said.  "  I  own  they  disgust 
me;  not  only  in  themselves,  but  as  examples  of  certain 
modern  tendencies  which  are  choking  the  life  out  of  me 
and  such  men  as  me.  You  business  people  are  on  the  up 
grade  just  now,  and  you  know  it.  Whoever  goes  under, 
you  are  safe  to  do  yourselves  most  uncommonly  well.  I 
don't  mean  anything  personal,  of  course.  I  am  just  stat- 
ing 4  self-evident  fact.  Commerce  is  in  the  air — you  all 
reek  of  success.  And  so  even  shopwalkers,  like  Worth- 
ington,  and  that  thrice  odious  puppy  Farge,  grow  sleek, 
and  venture  to  spread  themselves  in  the  presence  of  their 
betters — in  the  presence  of  a  scholar  and  a  gentleman, 
who  is  well  connected  and  has  received  a  classical  educa- 
tion, like  myself." 

Smyth  paused,  turning  sideways  to  the  table,  leaning 
his  elbow  on  it,  crossing  his  legs  and  staring  gloomily 
down  the  long  room. 

"  But  what  do  they  know  or  care  about  scholarship?  " 
he  continued.  "  What  they  do  know  is  that  the  spirit 
of  this  unspeakably  vulgar  age  is  with  them  and  their 
miserable  huckstering.  They  know  that  well  enough  and 
act  upon  it,  though  they  are  too  illiterate  to  put  it  into 
words — know  that  trade  is  in  process  of  exploding  learn- 
ing, of  exploiting  literature  and  art  to  its  own  low 
purposes,  in  process  of  scaling  Olympus,  in  shor.t,  and 
ignominiously  chucking  out  the  gods." 

Dominic  Iglesias  had  listened  to  this  astonishing  tirade 
in  silence.  The  man  was  evidently  suffering  from  feelings 
of  bitter  injury,  also  he  was  his — Iglesias' — guest.  Both 
pity  and  hospitality  engaged  him  to  endurance.  But 
there  are  limits.  And  at  this  point  professional  dignity 
and  a  lingering  loyalty  towards  the  house  of  Barking 
Brothers  &  Barking  enjoined  protest. 

"  No  doubt  we  live  in  times  of  commerce,  rather  than 
in  those  of  chivalry,"  he  remarked.  "  Still,  I  venture  to 


86  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

think  your  condemnation  is  too  sweeping.  One  should 
discriminate  surely  between  trade  and  finance." 

"  Only  as  one  discriminates  between  a  little  dog  and 
a  big  one.  The  little  dog  is  the  easier  to  kick.  I  can't 
get  at  the  Rothschilds  and  Rockefellers;  and  so  I  go 
for  the  Farges  and  Worthingtons,"  Smyth  answered. 
"  In  principle  I  am  right.  Trade,  commerce,  finance, 
juggle  with  the  names  as  you  like,  it  all  comes  back  to 
the  same  thing  in  the  end,  namely,  the  murder  of  intel- 
lect by  money.  Comes  back  to  the  worship  of  Mammon, 
chosen  ruler  of  this  contemptible  fin  de  siecle,  and  safe  to 
be  even  more  tyrannously  the  ruler  of  the  coming  cen- 
tury. What  hope,  I  ask  you,  is  left  for  us  poor  devils  of 
literary  men?  None,  absolutely  none.  Just  in  propor- 
tion as  we  honour  our  calling  and  refuse  to  prostitute  our 
talents  we  are  at  a  discount.  The  powers  that  be  have 
no  earthly  use  for  us.  We  have  not  the  ghost  of  a 
chance." 

He  altered  his  position,  looking  quickly  and  nervously 
at  his  host. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said.  "  For  the  moment  I 
forgot  you  were  on  the  other  side,  among  the  conquerors, 
not  the  conquered.  Probably  this  conversation  does  not 
interest  you  in  the  least." 

"  On  the  contrary,  it  interests  me  very  deeply,"  Dom- 
inic replied  gravely. 

"  All  the  same,  out  of  self-respect  I  ought  to  hold  my 
tongue  about  it,  I  suppose.  For  I  have  accepted  the 
position,  Mr.  Iglesias.  I  have  learned  to  do  that.  Only 
on  each  fresh  occasion  that  it  is  brought  home  to  me — • 
and  it  has  been  brought  home  abominably  clearly  to-night 
—my  gorge  rises  at  it.  And  it  ought  to  be  so.  For  it 
is  an  outrage — you  yourself  must  admit — that  a  man  who 
started  with  excellent  prospects  and  with  the  conscious- 
ness of  unusual  talents — of  genius,  perhaps — should  be 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  87 

ruined  and  broken,  while  every  miserable  little  counter- 
jumper " 

He  leaned  his  elbows  on  the  table,  hiding  his  face  in  his 
hands,  and  his  shoulders  shook. 

"  For  I  have  talent,"  he  cried,  in  a  curiously  thin  voice. 
"  Before  God  I  have.  They  may  refuse  to  publish  me, 
refuse  to  play  me,  force  me  to  pick  up  scraps  of  hack- 
work on  fourth-rate  papers  to  earn  a  bare  subsistence — 
at,  times  hardly  that.  Yet  all  the  same,  no  supercilious 
beast  of  an  editor  or  actor-manager — curse  the  whole 
stinking  lot — shall  rob  me  of  my  faith  in  myself — of  my 
belief  that  I  am  great — if  I  had  justice,  nothing  less  than 
that,  I  tell  you,  nothing  less  than  great." 

Dominic  Iglesias  drew  himself  up,  sitting  very  still, 
his  lips  rigid,  not  from  defect,  but  from  excess  of  sym- 
pathy. The  restaurant  was  empty  now,  save  for  a  man, 
four  tables  down,  safely  ensconced  behind  the  pink  pages 
of  an  evening  paper,  and  for  a  couple,  at  the  far  end,  in 
the  window — a  young  Frenchwoman,  whose  coquettish 
hat  and  trim  rounded  figure  were  silhouetted  against 
the  yellow  silk  curtain,  and  a  precocious  black-haired 
youth,  with  a  skin  like  pale,  pink  satin,  round  eyeglasses 
and  an  incipient  moustache.  His  attention  was  entirely 
occupied  with  the  young  woman;  hers  entirely  occupied 
with  herself.  And  of  this  Dominic  Iglesias  was  glad. 
For  the  matter  immediately  in  hand  was  best  conducted 
without  witnesses.  He  found  it  strangely  engrossing, 
strangely  moving.  However  vain,  however  madly  exag- 
gerated even,  de  Courcy  Smyth's  estimate  of  himself, 
there  could  be  no  question  but  that  his  present  emotion 
was  as  actual  and  genuine  as  his  past  hunger  had  been. 
The  man  was  utterly  spent  in  body  and  in  spirit.  Offensive 
in  speech,  slovenly  in  person,  yet  these  distasteful  things 
added  to,  rather  than  detracted  from,  Iglesias'  going  out 
of  sympathy  towards  him.  He  had  rarely  been  in  contact 


88  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

with  a  fellow-creature  in  such  abandonment  of  distress. 
It  was  terrible  to  witness;  yet  it  gave  him  a  sense  of 
fellowship,  of  nearness,  even  of  power,  which  had  in  it 
an  element  of  deep-seated  satisfaction.  While  he  waited 
for  the  moment  when  it  should  become  clear  to  him  how 
to  act,  his  thought  travelled  back  to  the  Lady  of  the 
Windswept  Dust.  He  saw,  not  her  over-red  lips,  but 
her  serious  eyes;  saw  her  tearful  and  in  a  way  broken, 
for  all  her  light  speech,  her  fanciful  garments,  and  her 
antics  with  her  absurd  little  dogs  amid  the  sweetness  of 
sunshine  and  summer  breeze  on  Barnes  Common.  She 
was  far  enough  away,  so  he  judged,  in  sentiment  and 
circumstance  from  the  embittered  and  poverty-haunted 
man  sitting  opposite  to  him.  Yet  though  superficially 
so  dissimilar,  they  were  alike  in  this,  that  both  had  dared 
to  reveal  themselves,  passing  beyond  conventional  limits 
in  intercourse  with  him,  Iglesias.  Both  had  cried  out  to 
him  in  their  distress.  And  then,  thinking  of  that  recently 
visited  altar  of  the  dead,  thinking  of  the  one  perfect  rela- 
tionship he  had  known — his  relationship  to  his  mother — 
it  came  to  him  as  a  revelation  that  not  participation 
in  the  pride  of  life  and  the  splendour  of  it — still  less  asso- 
ciation in  mere  pleasure  and  amusement — forms  the 
cement  which  binds  together  the  units  of  humanity  in 
stable  and  consoling  relationship;  but  association  in  sor- 
row, the  cry  for  help  and  the  response  to  that  cry,  whether 
it  be  help  to  the  staying  of  the  hunger  of  the  heart  and 
of  the  intellect,  or  simply  to  the  staying  of  that  baser 
yet  very  searching  hunger  of  overstrained  nerve's  and  an 
empty  stomach.  The  revelation  was  partial.  Iglesias 
groped,  so  to  speak,  in  the  light  of  it  uncertain  and 
dazzled.  But  he  received  it  as  real — an  idea  the  magni- 
tude of  which,  in  inspiration  and  application,  he  was  as 
yet  by  no  means  equal  to  measure.  Still  he  believed  that 
could  he  but  yield  himself  to  it,  and,  in  yielding,  master 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  89 

it,  it ,  would  carry  him  very  far,  teaching  him  that  lan- 
guage of  the  spirit  which  he  desired  to  acquire ;  and  hence 
placing  in  his  hand  that  earnestly  coveted  key  to  an 
adjustment  between  the  exterior  and  interior  life,  the  life 
of  the  senses  and  the  life  of  the  spirit,  which  must  needs 
eventuate,  manward  and  godward  alike,  in  triumphant 
harmony. 

Meanwhile  there  sat  de  Courcy  Smyth,  blear-eyed, 
sandy-red  bearded,  unsavoury,  trying,  poor  wretch,  to 
ralty  whatever  of  manhood  was  left  in  him  and  swagger 
himself  out  of  his  fit  of  hysteria.  The  Latin,  however 
dignified,  is  instinctively  more  demonstrative  than  the 
Anglo-Saxon.  Iglesias  leaned  across  the  table  and  laid 
his  hand  on  the  other  man's  shoulder. 

"  Wait  a  little,"  he  said.  "  Drink  your  coffee  and 
smoke.  We  need  not  hurry  to  move." 

There  was  a  pause,  during  which  Smyth  obediently 
swallowed  his  coffee,  swallowed  his  chasse  of  cognac. 

"  I  have  made  an  egregious  ass  of  myself,"  he  said 
sullenly. 

"  No,  no,"  Iglesias  answered.  "  You  have  honoured 
me  by  taking  me  into  your  confidence.  It  rests  with  me 
to  see  that  you  never  have  cause  to  regret  having 
done  so." 

"  I  believe  you  mean  that." 

"  Certainly  I  mean  it,"  Iglesias  answered. 

Smyth's  hands  trembled  as  he  took  a  cigar  and  held 
a  match  to  it. 

"  I  am  unaccustomed  to  meeting  with  kindness,"  he  said 
in  a  low  voice.  Then  recovering  himself  somewhat,  he 
began  to  speak  volubly  again.  "Of  course  I  understand 
it  all  well  enough.  They  are  simply  afraid  of  my  work, 
those  beasts  of  editors  and  playwrights.  It  is  too  big  for 
them,  they  dare  not  face  it  and  the  consequences  of  it, 
It  is  strong  stuff,  Mr.  Iglesias,  strong  stuff  with  plenty 


90  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

of  red  blood  in  it,  and  with  scholarship,  too.  And  so 
they  pigeon-hole  ray  stories  and  dramas  in  self-defence, 
knowing  that  if  these  once  reached  the  public,  either  in 
print  or  in  action,  their  own  fly-blown  anaemic  produc- 
tions would  be  hissed  off  the  stage  or  would  ruin  the 
circulation  of  the  periodical  which  inserted  them.  It  is 
all  jealousy,  I  tell  you,  Mr.  Iglesias,  rank,  snakish 
jealousy,  bred  by  self-interest  out  of  fear — a  truly 
exalted  parentage ! " 

He  shifted  his  position  restlessly,  again  setting  his 
elbows  upon  the  table  and  fingering  the  broken  bread 
upon  the  cloth. 

"  At  times,  when  I  can  rise  above  the  immediate  injus- 
tice and  cruelty  which  pursue  me,"  he  went  on,  "  I  glory 
in  my  martyrdom.  I  range  myself  alongside  those 
heroes  of  literature  and  art,  who,  because  they  were  ahead 
of  the  age  in  which  they  lived,  were  scorned  and  repu- 
diated by  their  contemporaries;  but  they  found  their 
revenge  in  the  worship  of  succeeding  generations.  My 
time  will  come  just  as  theirs  did.  It  must — I  tell  you 
it  must.  I  know  that.  I  am  safe  of  eventual  recognition ; 
but  I  want  it  now,  while  I  am  alive,  while  I  can  glut 
myself  with  the  joy  of  it.  I  want  to  see  the  men  who 
lord  it  over  me,  just  because  they  have  influence  and 
money,  who  affect  to  despise  me  because  they  are  green 
with  envy  and  fear  of  me,  brought  to  their  knees,  flat- 
tened so  that  I  can  wipe  my  boots  on  them.  And — and  " 
— he  looked  full  at  Dominic  Iglesias,  spreading  out  both 
hands  across  the  narrow  table,  his  pale  prominent  eyes 
blood-shot,  his  face  working — "  I  want  to  see  someone 
else — a  woman — brought  to  her  knees  also.  I  want  to 
make  her  feel  what  she  has  lost — curse  her ! — and  have  her 
come  back  whining." 

"  And  if  she  did  come  back,"  Iglesias  asked,  almost 
sternly,  "what  would  you  do?  Forgive  her?" 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  91 

De  Courcy  Smyth's  hands  dropped  with  a  queer  little 
thud  on  the  table. 

"  I  don't  know.  I  suppose  so.  If  she  wanted  to  she 
could  always  get  round  me."  Then  he  turned  on  Iglesias 
with  hysterical  violence.  "  But  what  do  you  know  ?  Why 
do  you  ask  that?  Are  you  among  her  patrons?  I  trusted 
you.  I  believed  you  were  a  gentleman  in  feeling — and  it 
is  a  dirty  trick  to  get  me  in  here  and  fill  me  up  with  food 
and  liquor,  when  you  must  have  seen  my  nerves  were  all 
to  pieces,  and  then  spring  this  upon  me.  Oh !  hell !  "  he 
cried,  "  is  there  no  comfort  anywhere?  Is  everyone  a 
traitor?  " 

And  seeing  his  utter  abjectness,  Iglesias'  heart  went 
out  to  the  unhappy  man  in  immense  and  unqualified 
pity. 

"  I  am  grieved,"  he  said  gently,  "  if  I  have  pained  you 
unnecessarily.  But  truly  I  have  sprung  nothing  upon 
you.  How  could  I  do  so?  I  know  nothing  whatever  of 
your  circumstances  save  that  which  you  yourself  have 
told  me  during  the  last  hour." 

"  Then  why  did  you  ask  that  question  about — about 
her?  " 

"  Because,"  Dominic  answered,  "  I  am  ready  to  fight 
for  you,  in  as  far  as  you  will  allow  me  to  do  so;  but 
I  do  not  fight  against  women." 

"  You  must  have  had  uncommonly  little  experience  of 
them  then,"  Smyth  answered  with  a  sneer. 

To  this  observation  Mr.  Iglesias  deemed  it  superfluous 
to  make  any  answer.  A  silence  followed.  The  restau- 
rant was  empty,  but  for  the  waiters,  who  stood  in  a  little 
knot  about  the  door  amusing  themselves  by  watching  the 
movement  of  the  street.  Looking  round  to  make  sure 
no  one  was  within  hearing,  Smyth  rose  unsteadily  to  his 
feet. 

"  You  meant  what  you  said  just  now,  Mr.  Iglesias — • 


92  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

that  you  were  ready  to  fight  for  me?  "  he  asked  urgently 
yet  cringingly. 

"  Certainly  I  meant  it,"  Dominic  replied,  "  the  proviso 
I  have  made  being  respected." 

"  Yes,  yes,  of  course — but  what  do  you  understand  by 
fighting  for  me?  Money?  " 

Dominic  had  risen,  too.  He  remained  for  a  moment  in 
thought. 

"  Within  reasonable  relation  to  my  means,  yes,"  he 
said. 

"  I  only  want  my  chance,"  the  other  asserted.  "  The 
rest  will  follow  as  a  matter  of  course.  You  would  risk 
nothing,  Mr.  Iglesias.  It  would  be  an  investment,  simply 
an  investment.  The  play  is  not  finished  yet — I  have  been 
too  disheartened  and  disgusted  recently  to  be  able  to  work 
at  it.  But  it  is  great,  I  tell  you,  great.  When  it  is  done 
will  you  give  me  my  chance,  and  take  a  theatre  for  me 
and  finance  a  couple  of  matinees?  " 

Again  Dominic  Iglesias  thought  for  a  moment,  and 
again,  driven  by  that  strange  necessity  of  fellowship — 
though  knowing  all  the  while  he  was  putting  his  hand 
to  a  very  questionable  adventure — he  replied  in  the 
affirmative. 


CHAPTER  IX 

ON  that  same  evening,  and  at  the  same  hour  at  which 
Dominic  Iglesias  bound  himself  to  the  practical  assist- 
ance of  a  personally  unsavoury  and  professionally  un- 
succ^ssful  playwright,  a  conversation  was  in  progress 
between  two  persons  of  more  exalted  social  station  in 
the  drawing-room  of  a  pleasant  house  in  Chester  Square. 
The  said  drawing-room,  mid-Victorian  in  aspect,  was 
decorated  in  white  and  gold  and  unaggressive  green. 
The  ground  of  the  chintz  was  very  white,  sprinkled  over 
with  bunches  of  shaded  mauve  roses  unknown  to  horti- 
culture. Lady  Constance  Decies'  tea-gown  was  white 
and  mauve  also.  For  she  was  still  in  half -mourning  for 
her  father,  the  late  Lord  Fallowfeild,  who  had  died  some 
eighteen  months  previously  at  a  very  venerable  age,  and 
with  a  touching  modesty  as  though  his  advent  in  another 
world  might  savour  of  intrusion.  He  had  always  been  a 
humble-minded  man.  He  remained  so  to  the  last. 

The  windows  stood  open  to  the  balcony.  And  the 
effect  of  the  woman,  and  of  the  soft  lights  and  colours 
surrounding  her,  was  reposeful.  For  at  the  age  of  fifty 
Lady  Constance,  though  stately,  was  a  mild  and  very 
gentle  person  upon  whom  the  push  of  the  modern  world 
had  laid  no  hand.  All  the  active  drama  of  her  life  had 
been  crowded  into  a  few  weeks  of  the  early  summer  of 
her  eighteenth  year;  since  which,  now  remote,  period 
she  had  enjoyed  a  tranquil  existence,  happy  in  the  love 
of  her  husband  and  the  care  of  her  children.  Her  pretty 
brown  hair  was  beginning  to  turn  grey  upon  the  tem- 
ples. Her  eyes,  set  remarkably  far  apart,  had  a  certain 
vagueness  and  a  great  innocence  of  expression.  She  was 
naturally  timid,  and  cared  but  little  for  any  society  be- 

93 


94  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

yond  that  of  her  near  relations.  To-night  she  was  par- 
ticularly content,  mildly  radiant  even,  thanks  to  the 
presence  of  her  favourite  brother,  the  present  Lord  Fal- 
lowfeild,  and  his  avowed  admiration  of  her  younger 
daughter — a  maiden  of  nineteen,  who  stood  before  her, 
with  shining  eyes,  in  all  the  delicate  splendour  of  a  spot- 
less ball-dress. 

"  Yes,  darling,  you  look  very  sweet,"  she  said.  "  Just 
lean  down — the  lace  has  got  caught  in  the  flowers  on 
your  berthe*  That's  right.  Don't  keep  your  father 
too  late." 

"  And  in  all  things  be  discreet " — this  from  Lord  Fal- 
lowfeild.  "  It's  been  my  motto  through  life,  as  your 
mother  knows.  And  you  couldn't  have  a  brighter  exam- 
ple of  the  excellent  results  of  it  than  myself.  Good-night, 
my  dear.  Enjoy  yourself,"  and  he  patted  her  on  the 
cheek,  avoiding  the  kiss  which  she  in  all  innocence  prof- 
fered him.  "  Pretty  child,  Kathleen,  uncommonly  pretty," 
he  continued  as  the  door  closed  behind  the  graceful  fig- 
ure. "  It  strikes  me,  Con,  your  girls  have  all  the  good 
looks  of  the  family  in  the  younger  generation,  with  the 
exception  of  Violet  Aldham.  But  she's  getting  pinched, 
a  bit  pinched  and  witch-like.  Then  she  makes  up  too 
much.  I  have  no  prejudice  against  a  woman's  improv- 
ing upon  nature  where  nature's  been  niggardly.  But 
it  is  among  the  things  that'll  keep.  It's  a  mistake  to 
begin  it  too  early.  In  my  opinion  Violet  has  begun  it 
too  early — might  quite  well  have  given  herself  another 
ten  years'  grace. — Maggie's  girls  are  gawky,  you  know; 
and,  between  ourselves,  so  terribly  flat,  poor  things,  both 
fore  and  aft.  Upon  my  word,  I'm  not  surprised  they 
don't  marry." 

"  I  am  afraid  Maggie  feels  it  a  good  deal,"  said  Lady 
Constance.  Satisfaction  mingled  with  pity  in  her  soul. 
The  disabilities  of  other  women's  children  are  never 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  95 

wholly  distressing  to  a  tender  mother's  heart.  "  You  see, 
she's  so  anxious  the  girls  should  not  marry  the  bishop's 
chaplains ;  and  yet  really  they  hardly  see  any  other  young 
men.  I  think  it  is  a  very  difficult  position,  that  of  a 
bishop's  wife." 

Lord  Fallowfeild  smiled,  settling  himself  back  in  the 
corner  of  the  wide  sofa  and  crossing  his  long  legs.  He 
had'  thought  more  deeply  on  a  good  many  subjects  than 
the.  majority  of  his  acquaintance  supposed;  with  the 
consequence  that  he  occasionally  surprised  his  fellow-peers 
by  the  acuteness  of  his  observations  in  debate.  Lord 
Fallowfeild,  it  may  be  added,  took  his  recently  acquired 
office  of  hereditary  legislator  with  a  commendable  mixture 
of  humour  and  seriousness. 

"  Their  position  is  an  anomalous  one,"  he  said ;  "  and 
an  anomalous  position  is  inevitably  a  difficult  one — ought 
to  be  so,  in  my  opinion.  But  that's  not  to  the  point. 
We  were  talking,  not  about  the  episcopal  ladies,  but 
about  this  little  business  of  Kathleen's.  So  you  believe 
Lady  Sokeington  has  views  and  intentions?" 

"  I  know  that  she  has.  But  you  see,  Shotover,"  Lady 
Constance  went  on,  returning  to  the  name  which  that 
gentleman  had  rendered  somewhat  notorious  in  earlier 
years  by  a  record  in  sport,  in  debts,  in  amours,  and  in 
irresistible  sweetness  of  temper — "  I  want  to  be  quite 
sure  he  is  really  good.  Because  the  affair  has  not  gone 
very  far  yet  and  it  might  be  put  a  stop  to — at  least  I 
hope  and  think  it  might — without  making  darling  Kath- 
leen too  dreadfully  unhappy.  You  do  believe  he  really 
is  good?  " 

Lord  Fallowfeild  leaned  forward  and  rubbed  a  hardly 
perceptible  atom  of  fluff  off  his  left  trouser  leg  just  above 
the  ankle. 

"  My  dear  Con,"  he  answered,  "  you  are  very  charm- 
ing, but  you  are  a  trifle  embarrassing,  too,  you  know, 


96  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

Haven't  you  learned,  even  at  this  time  of  day,  that  very 
few  men  in  our  world  are  good  in  a  good  woman's  sense 
of  the  word?" 

Lady  Constance's  smooth  forehead  puckered  into  fine 
little  lines. 

"  Shotover,  dear,"  she  said,  "  you're  not  getting  em- 
bittered, I  hope?  " 

"Me?  Bless  you,  no,  never  in  life!"  he  returned, 
smiling  very  reassuringly  at  her.  "  Don't  worry  your- 
self under  that  head.  I  quarrel  with  nobody  and  nothing, 
not  even  the  consequences  of  my  past  iniquities.  It  is 
a  very  just  world,  take  it  all  round,  and  has  been  kinder 
to  me  than  I  deserve." 

"  Oh !  but  you  do  nothing,  you — you  are  what — you 
won't  think  me  rude,  Shotover  ? — what  the  boys  call  *  very 
decent '  now." 

Lady  Constance  spoke  hurriedly,  her  colour  rising  in 
the  most  engaging  manner. 

"  As  decent  as  I  know  how,  you  dear  soul,"  he  said, 
taking  her  hand  in  his.  "  But  that  makes  no  difference 
to  one's  knowledge  of  one's  own  ways,  in  the  past,  or  of 
the  ways  of  other  men." 

"  But  Alaric  Barking?  " 

"  Neither  better  nor  worse  than  the  rest." 

Then  Lord  Fallowfeild  shut  his  small  and  beautiful 
mouth  very  tight,  as  though  he  would  be  glad  to  avoid 
further  cross-questioning.  Lady  Constance's  forehead 
remained  puckered. 

"It's  dreadfully  difficult  when  one's  girls  grow  up," 
she  said  plaintively.  "One  can  be  comfortable  about 
them,  poor  darlings,  and  enjoy  them  when  they  are  in 
the  nursery — even  in  the  schoolroom,  though  governesses 
are  worrying.  They  know  so  much  about  quantities  of 
subjects  which  seem  to  me  not  to  matter.  One  never  re- 
fers to  them  in  ordinary  conversation ;  and  if  one  should 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  97 

be  obliged  to  It  Is  so  easy  to  ask  somebody  to  tell  one. 
And  yet  they  manage  to  make  me  feel  dreadfully  uncom- 
fortable and  ignorant  because  I  know  nothing  about  them. 
But  when  they  grow  up " 

"Who,  the  governesses?"  Lord  Fallowfeild  inquired. 
"  I  never  supposed  they  stood  in  need  of  that  process — 
thought  they  started  out  of  the  egg  all  finished,  as  you 
might  say,  and  ran  about  at  once  like  chickens." 

"  No,  no,  the  girls,  poor  darlings,"  Lady  Constance 
replied.  "  One  does  get  dreadfully  anxious  about  them, 
Shotover,  really  one  does — specially  if  one  has  escaped 
something  very  frightening  oneself  and  has  been  very 
happy — lest  they  should  fall  in  love  with  the  wrong  peo- 
ple, or  lest  they  should  be  anything  which  one  did  not 
know  beforehand  and  then  everything  should  turn  out 
dreadful.  I  should  be  so  miserable.  I  don't  think  I  could 
bear  it.  I  know  it  is  wrong  to  say  that,  because  if  one 
was  really  good,  one  would  accept  whatever  God  sent 
without  murmuring.  So  I  could  for  myself,  I  think.  In 
any  case  I  should  earnestly  try  to.  But  for  the  children 
it  is  so  much  harder.  If  they  were  unhappy  I  should  feel 
ashamed  of  having  had  them — as  if  I'd  done  something 
horribly  selfish;  because,  you  see,  there  can  be  nothing 
so  delightful  as  having  children." 

She  looked  at  Lord  Fallowfeild  in  the  most  pathetic 
manner,  the  corners  of  her  mouth  a-shake.  And  he  took 
her  hand  and  held  it  again,  touched  by  the  sincerity  of 
her  confused  utterance,  and  the  great  mother-love  resident 
in  her.  Touched,  perhaps,  by  the  age-old  problem  of 
man  and  maid,  also. 

"Dear  little  Con,  dear  little  Con,"  he  said,  "I'm 
awfully  sorry  you  should  be  worried,  but  I'm  afraid  we've 
got  to  look  facts  in  the  face.  And  it's  no  kindness  for  me 
to  lie  to  you  about  these  matters.  I  don't  pretend  to  say 
what's  right  or  what's  wrong;  I  only  say  what  it  is.  We 


98  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

can't  make  society,  and  the  ways  of  it,  all  over  again 
even  to  save  Kathleen  a  heartache.  I  don't  want  to  seem 
a  brute,  but  she  must  just  take  her  chance  along  with 
the  rest  of  you.  Marriage  always  has  been  a  confounded 
uncertain  business,  and  will  always  remain  so,  I  suppose. 
The  sort  of  remedies  excited  persons  suggest  to  mitigate 
the  dangers  of  it  are  a  good  deal  worse  than  the  disease, 
in  my  opinion.  Every  woman  has  to  take  her  chance. 
Every  man  has  to  take  his,  too,  you  know — and  the 
chance  strikes  some  of  us  as  such  an  uncommonly  poor 
one,  that,  upon  my  honour,  it  seems  safest  to  wash  one's 
hands  of  it  altogether." 

"  But  you're  not  unhappy,  Shotover,  dear?  You're 
not  lonely?"  Lady  Constance  inquired  anxiously. 

"  Abominably  so  sometimes,  Con.  But  I  manage,  oh ! 
I  manage.  I  have  my  consolations  " — he  smiled  at  her, 
perhaps  a  trifle  shamefacedly.  "  But  now  about  Kath- 
leen," he  went  on,  "  as  I  say,  she  must  take  her  chance 
along  with  the  rest  of  you,  poor  little  dear.  After  all, 
you  took  your  chance  when  you  married  Decies,  and  it 
has  not  turned  out  so  badly,  you  know." 

Lady  Constance  became  radiant  once  more,  as  some 
mild-shining  summer  moon  emerging  from  behind  tem- 
porarily obscuring  clouds. 

"  Oh !  but  then,"  she  said,  "  of  course  that  was  so 
entirely  different." 

Lord  Fallowfeild  patted  her  hand,  his  head  bent,  look- 
ing at  her  somewhat  merrily. 

"Was  it,  my  dear,  was  it? — I  wonder,"  he  said. 

She  withdrew  her  hand  with  a  certain  dignity.  Not- 
withstanding her  softness  and  tenderness,  there  were 
occasions — even  with  those  she  loved  best — when  Lady 
Constance  could  delicately  mark  her  displeasure. 

"  I  think  you  are  a  little  embittered,  Shotover,"  she 
asserted. 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  99 

He  leaned  back,  still  smiling,  and  shaking  his  head  at 
her. 

"  Old  and  wise — unpleasantly  old,  and  not  quite  such 
a  fool  as  I  used  to  be,  that's  all,"  he  answered. 

For  a  time  there  was  silence,  both  brother  and  sister 
thinking  their  own  thoughts.  Then  the  latter  spoke. 
Like  many  gentle  persons,  she  was  persistent.  She  al- 
ways had  been  so. 

"  I  should  be  so  grateful  if  you  would  tell  me,  because 
I  think  I  ought  to  know,  and  then  I  should  try  to  turn 
the  course  of  darling  Kathleen's  affections  before  it  all 
becomes  too  pronounced.  Is  there  any  entanglement,  any- 
thing amounting  to  what  one  calls  an  impediment,  in — 
well — you  understand — against  Alaric  Barking?" 

Lord  Fallowfeild  got  up,  took  a  turn  across  the  room, 
came  back,  and  stood  in  front  of  her. 

"  I  wish  you  wouldn't,  Con,"  he  said.  "  Upon  my  soul, 
I  wish  you  wouldn't.  It's  a  nasty  thing  for  an  old  man, 
who  has  gone  the  pace  in  his  day  pretty  thoroughly,  to 
give  away  a  lad  who  may  have  made  a  slip  just  at  the 
start,  and  who  is  doing  his  best  to  get  his  feet  again 
and  run  straight.  Alaric  Barking's  a  good  fellow.  I 
like  him.  I  never  have  been  and  never  shall  be  partial 
to  that  family.  Your  sister  Louisa  cried  up  their  vir- 
tues and  their  confounded  solvency,  in  the  old  days,  till 
she  made  them  a  positive  nuisance.  She's  not  a  happy 
way  of  inculcating  a  moral  economic  lesson,  hasn't  Louisa. 
But  I  own  I'm  fond  of  this  boy.  He's  far  the  best  of  the 
whole  lot — gentlemanlike,  and  a  sportsman,  and  good- 
looking — unusually  so  for  one  of  that  family — and,  my 
dear,  he's  downright  honestly  in  love  with  Kathleen.  I've 
watched  him — did  so  when  he  was  down  at  Ranelagh  one 
day  last  month  with  her  and  Victoria  Sokeington — and 
I  know  the  real  thing  when  I  see  it." 

"  But — but,  I  am  afraid,  Shotover,  you  mean  me  to 


100  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

understand  there  is  some  impediment?  "  Lady  Constance 
repeated. 

"  Oh !  well,  hang  it  all,  I'm  awfully  sorry,  but  if  you 
are  determined  to  have  it,  Connie,  perhaps  there  is.  Only 
for  heaven's  sake  don't  be  in  too  much  of  a  hurry.  Be- 
tween ourselves,  I  happen  to  know  the  boy's  doing  his 
best  to  shake  himself  free  in  an  honourable  manner.  So 
don't  rush  the  business.  Like  the  dear  tender-hearted 
creature  you  are,  have  a  little  mercy  on  the  poor  beggar. 
Let  the  whole  affair  drift  a  little.  It  may  straighten 
out." 

Lady  Constance  meditated  for  a  minute  or  so. 

"  It's  very  dreadful  that  there  should  be  any  impedi- 
ment," she  said. 

"  I'll  back  Alaric  to  agree  with  you  there,"  Lord  Fal- 
lowfeild  answered. 

"  You'll  do  what  you  can,  Shotover,  won't  you,  to  help 
Kathleen?  I  never  forget  how  you  helped  me  once!" 

Lord  Fallowfeild's  handsome  face  expressed  rather 
broad  amusement. 

"  I'm  afraid  the  two  cases  are  hardly  parallel,  my 
dear,"  he  said. 


CHAPTER    X 

"  THE  play's  on  the  other  side,  the  crowd's  on  the  other 
side,  all  the  fun's  on  the  other  side,  and  I  am  on  this 
side  with  nothing  more  lively  than  you,  you  little  shiv- 
ering idiot,  for  company." 

I*oppy  St.  John  drew  the  spaniel's  long  silky  ears 
through  her  fingers  slowly. 

"  I  am  bored,  Cappadocia,"  she  said,  with  a  yawn 
which  she  made  not  the  slightest  effort  to  stifle,  "  bored 
right  through  to  my  very  marrow.  Oh  dear,  oh  dear, 
oh  dear,  how  I  do  wish  something  would  happen ! " 

Poppy  sat,  propped  up  with  scarlet  silk  cushions,  in 
a  cane  deck-chair,  on  the  white-railed  balcony  upon  which 
the  first-floor  bedroom  windows  opened.  Around  her 
were  strewn  illustrated  magazines  and  ladies'  papers ;  but 
unfortunately  the  stories  in  the  former  appeared  to  her 
every  bit  as  silly  as  the  fashion-plates  in  the  latter.  Both 
had  equally  little  to  do  with  life  as  the  ordinary  flesh 
and  blood  human  being  lives  it.  She  was  filled  with  a 
rebellious  sense  of  the  banality  of  her  surroundings  this 
afternoon.  Even  from  her  coign  of  vantage  upon  the 
balcony,  whence  wide  prospects  disclosed  themselves, 
everything  looked  foolish,  pointless,  of  the  nature  of  an 
unpardonably  stale  joke. 

The  said  balcony,  divided  into  separate  compartments 
by  the  interposition  of  wooden  barriers,  extended  the 
whole  length  of  the  terrace  of  twenty-seven  houses.  And 
these  were  all  precisely  alike,  with  white  wood  and  stucco 
"  enrichments,"  as  the  technical  phrase  has  it.  Cheap 
stained  and  leaded  glass  adorned  the  upper  panels  of 
the  twenty-seven  front  doors,  which  were  approached  by 
twenty-seven  flights  of  steps — thus  securing  a  measure 

101 


102  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

of  light  and  air  to  the  twenty-seven  basements.  The  front 
doors  were  set  in  couples,  alternating  with  couples  of 
lay  windows.  There  was  a  determination  of  cheap  smart- 
ness, a  smirking  self-consciousness  about  the  little  houses, 
a  suggestion  of  having  put  on  their  best  frocks  and 
high-heeled  shoes  and  standing  very  much  on  tiptoe 
to  attract  attention.  The  balconies,  narrow  where  the 
upper  bays  encroached  on  them,  wide  where  the  house 
fronts  were  recessed  above  the  twin  front  doors,  broke  forth 
into  a  garland  of  flower-boxes.  Cascades  of  pink  ivy- 
leaf  geranium,  creeping-jenny,  and  nasturtiums  backed 
by  white  or  yellow  Paris  daisies,  flowed  outward  between 
the  white  balusters  and  masked  the  edge  of  the  wood- 
work. The  effect,  though  pretty,  was  not  quite  satisfac- 
tory— being  suggestive  of  millinery,  of  an  over-trimmed 
summer  hat. 

Immediately  below  was  the  roadway,  bordered  by  an 
asphalt  pavement  on  either  side,  then  the  high  impene- 
trable oak  paling,  which  had  baffled  Dominic  Iglesias' 
maiden  effort  at  participation  in  the  amusements  of  the 
rich.  From  Poppy's  balcony,  however,  the  palings  of- 
fered no  impediment  to  observation.  All  the  green  ex- 
panse of  the  smaller  polo-ground  was  visible.  So  was 
the  whole  height  of  the  grove  of  majestic  elms  on  the 
right  and  the  back  of  the  club  house;  and,  on  the  left, 
between  massifs  of  shrubbery,  a  vista  of  lawns  sloping 
towards  the  river  peopled  by  a  sauntering  crowd. 

It  was  upon  this  last  that  Poppy  directed  her  gaze. 
To  the  naked  eye  the  units  composing  it  showed  as  ver- 
tical lines  of  grey,  brown,  and  black,  blotted  with  bright 
'delicate  colour,  and  splashed  here  and  there  with  white, 
the  whole  mingling,  uniting,  breaking  into  fresh  combina- 
tions kaleidoscope  fashion.  Through  the  opera-glasses 
figures  of  men,  women,  and  horses  detached  themselves, 
becoming  quaintly  distinct,  neat  as  toys,  an  assemblage 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  103 

of  elegant  highly  finished  marionnettes.  There  was  a 
fascination  in  watching  the  movement  of  these  brilliant, 
clear-cut  silent  little  things  upon  that  amazingly  verdant 
carpet  of  grass.  But  it  was  a  fascination  which,  for 
Poppy,  had  by  now  worn  somewhat  thin.  The  interest 
proved  too  far  away,  too  impersonal.  Indeed  it  may  be 
questioned  whether  any  who  have  not  within  themselves 
large  store  of  resignation,  or  of  hope,  can  look  on  at 
gaiety,  in  which  they  have  no  share,  without  first  sadness 
and  then  pretty  lively  irritation.  And  of  those  two  most 
precious  commodities,  resignation  and  hope,  Poppy  had 
but  limited  reserve  stock  at  present.  So  she  pulled  the 
little  dog's  ears  rather  hard  and  lamented: 

"  Oh !  my  good  gracious  me,  if  only  something  would 
happen ! " 

Then,  the  words  hardly  out  of  her  mouth,  she  shot  the 
much-enduring  Cappadocia  off  her  lap  and,  restoring  her 
elbows  on  the  rail,  leaned  right  out  over  the  balcony. 

"  Come  here,  dear  beautiful  lunatic,  come  here,"  she 
cried.  "  For  pity's  sake  don't  pass  by !  " 

Perhaps  fortunately  this  very  unconventional  invita- 
tion was  lost  upon  Dominic  Iglesias,  soberly  crossing  the 
road  with  due  observance  of  the  eccentricities  of  the  driv- 
ers of  motor-cars  and  riders  of  bicycles.  Looking  up, 
he  was  aware  of  a  vision  quite  sufficiently  indicative  of 
welcome,  without  added  indiscretion  of  words. — The  white 
balustrade,  the  trailing  fringe  of  nasturtiums,  succulent 
leaves  and  orange-scarlet  blossoms ;  the  woman's  bust  and 
shoulders  in  her  string-coloured  lace  gown,  her  small  face, 
curiously  vivid  in  effect,  capped  by  the  heavy  masses  of 
her  black  hair,  her  singular  eyes  full  of  light,  the  red 
of  her  lips  and  tinge  of  stationary  pink  in  her  cheeks 
supplemented  by  a  glow  of  quick  excitement.  A  few 
weeks  ago  the  ascetic  in  Iglesias  might  have  taken  alarm. 
Now  it  was  different.  He  had  his  idea,  and,  walking 


104  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

in  the  strength  of  it,  dared  adventure  himself  in  neigh- 
bourhoods otherwise  slightly  questionable. 

Five  minutes  later  Poppy  advanced  across  the  little 
drawing-room  to  meet  him. 

u  Well/*  she  said,  "  of  course  you  might  have  come 
sooner.  But,  equally  of  course,  you  might  never  have 
come  at  all,  so  I  won't  quarrel  with  you  about  the  delay, 
though  I  would  like  you  to  know  it  has  worried  me  a  good 
deal" 

"Has  it?  I  am  sorry  for  that,"  Dominic  answered 
gravely. 

**  Yes,  be  sorry,  be  sorry,"  she  repeated.  "  It  is  com- 
fortable to  hear  you  say  so." 

She  looked  at  him  with  the  utmost  frankness,  took 
his  hand  and  led  him  to  a  settee  filling  in  the  right  angle 
between  the  fireplace  and  the  double  doors  at  the  back 
of  the  room. 

**  Sit  down,**  she  said,  "  and  let  us  talk.  Have  another 
cushion — so — and  if  you're  good  I'll  give  you  tea  pres- 
ently. And  understand,  you  needn't  be  careful  of  your- 
self. I'll  play  perfectly  fair  with  you.  Fve  been  thinking 
it  all  out  during  this  time  you  didn't  come;  and  I  never 
go  back  on  my  word  once  given.  So,  look  here,  you 
needn't  account  for  yourself  in  any  way.  I  don't  even 
want  to  know  your  name — specially  I  don't  want  to  know 
that.  It  might  localise  you,  and  I  don't  want  to  have 
you  localised.  Directly  a  person  is  localised  it  takes 
away  their  restfulness  to  one.  One  begins  to  see  just 
all  the  places  where  they  belong  to  somebody  else,  notice- 
boards  stuck  up  everywhere  warning  one  to  keep  off 
the  grass.  And  that's  a  nuisance.  It  raises  Old  Nick 
in  one,  and  makes  one  long  to  commit  all  manner  of 
wickedness  which  would  never  have  entered  one's  head 
otherwise.** 

Poppy  held  her  hands  palm  to  palm  between  her  knees, 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  105 

glancing  at  Dominic  Iglesias  now  and  again  sideways  as 
she  spoke.  The  bodice  of  her  dress,  cut  slightly  en 
canir,  showed  the  nape  of  her  neck,  and  the  whole  of  her 
throat,  which  was  smooth  and  rounded  though  rather 
long.  Her  make  altogether  was  that  not  uncommon  to 
London  girls  of  the  lower  middle-class:  small-boned  and 
possibly  anaemic,  but  prettily  moulded,  and  with  an  at- 
traction of  over-civilisation  as  of  hot-house-grown  plants. 
Just  now  her  head  seemed  bowed  down  by  the  weight  of 
her  dark  hair,  as  she  sat  gathered  together,  making  her- 
self small  as  a  child  will  when  concentrating  its  mind  to 
the  statement  of  some  serious  purpose. 

"  I've  knocked  about  a  lot,"  she  went  on.  "  It's  right 
you  should  know  that.  And  there's  not  very  much  left 
to  tell  me  about  a  number  of  things  not  usually  set  down 
in  conversation  books  designed  for  debutants.  But  just 
on  that  account  I  may  be  rather  useful  to  you  in  some 
ways. — Don't  go  and  be  offended  now,  there's  a  dear, 
good  man,"  she  added  coaxingly.  w  Because  judging  by 
what  you  told  me  the  other  day,  there's  no  doubt  that, 
under  some  heads,  you  are  very  much  of  a  debutant" 

"  I  suppose  I  am,"  Iglesias  said  slowly.  It  was  very 
strange  to  him  to  find  himself  in  so  sudden  and  close  an 
intimacy  with  this  at  once  so  wise  and  so  artificial  woman 
creature.  But  he  had  his  idea.  Moreover,  increasingly 
he  trusted  her. 

"  Of  course  you  are,"  she  asserted.  "  That* s  just 
where  the  beauty  of  it  all  comes  hi.  You're  the  veriest 
infant.  One  has  only  to  look  into  your  face  to  see  that. 
— Don't  go  and  freeze  up  now.  You  belong  to  another 
order  of  doctrine  and  practice  to  that  current  in  corn- 
temporary  society." 

Poppy  gazed  at  the  floor,  still  making  herself  small, 
the  palms  of  her  hands  pressed  together  between  her 
knees. 


106  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

"  And  that's  just  why  you  can  be  useful  to  me,  awfully 
useful,  if  you  choose — I  don't  mean  money,  business,  any- 
thing of  the  kind.  I'm  perfectly  competent  to  manage 
my  own  affairs,  thank  you.  But  you're  good  for  me, 
somehow.  You  rest  me." 

She  began  to  rock  herself  gently  backwards  and  for- 
wards, but  without  taking  the  heels  of  her  shoes  off  the 
ground. 

"  Yes,  you  rest  me,  you  rest  me,"  she  repeated. 

"  I  am  glad,"  Iglesias  said.  He  felt  soberly  pleased, 
thankful  almost. 

Again  Poppy  glanced  at  him  sideways. 

"  Yes,  I  believe  you  are,"  she  said.  "  And  that  shows 
things  have  happened  to  you — in  you,  more  likely — since 
we  last  met.  You  have  come  on  a  great  piece." 

"  I  doubt  if  I  have  come  on,  so  much  as  gone  back, 
to  influences  of  long  ago,"  he  answered ;  "  to  things 
which  had  been  overlaid  by  the  dust  of  my  working  years 
almost  to  the  point  of  obliteration." 

"Was  it  pleasant  to  go  back?  "  Poppy  asked. 

"  Not  at  all.  The  going  was  painful.  It  required  some 
courage  to  brush  off  the  dust." 

"  It  usually  does  require  courage — at  least  that's  my 
experience — to  brush  off  the  dust." 

Dominic  Iglesias  made  no  immediate  answer.  He  was 
a  little  startled  at  his  companion's  acute  reading  of  him, 
a  little  touched  by  her  confidence.  Her  words  seemed 
to  suggest  the  possibility  of  a  relationship  which  fitted 
in  admirably  with  the  development  of  his  idea.  He  sat 
looking  away  across  the  room,  and,  doing  so,  became 
aware  that  the  said  room  possessed  unexpected  charac- 
teristics, calculated  to  elucidate  his  impressions  of  its 
owner's  character.  It  was  a  man's  room  rather  than  a 
woman's,  innocent  of  furbelows  and  frills.  Two  low, 
wide  settees,  well  furnished  with  cushions  and  upholstered 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  107 

in  dark  yellowish-red  tapestry,  fitted  into  the  corners  on 
either  side  the  double  doors.  A  couple  of  large  armchairs 
and  a  revolving  book-table  occupied  the  centre  of  the 
room.  An  upright  piano,  in  an  ebonised  case,  draped 
across  the  back  with  an  Indian  phulkari — discs  of  look- 
ing-glass set  in  coarsely  worked  yellow  eyelet  holes  form- 
ing the  border  of  it — stood  at  right  angles  to  the  wall 
just  short  of  the  bay  window.  In  the  window,  placed 
slant-wise,  was  a  carved  black  oak  writing-table,  a  long 
row  of  photographs  stuck  up  against  the  back  shelf  of 
it.  The  walls  were  hung  with  a  set  of  William  Nicolson's 
prints,  strong,  dark,  distinct,  slightly  sinister  in  effect; 
a  fine  etching  of  Jean  Fra^ois  Millet's  Gleaners;  and, 
in  noticeable  contrast  to  this  last,  a  mezzotint  of  Rom- 
ney's  picture  of  Lady  Hamilton  spinning.  Upon  the 
book-table  were  a  silver  ash-tray  and  cigarette-box.  The 
air  was  unquestionably  impregnated  with  the  odour  of 
tobacco,  which  the  burning  of  scent-sticks  quite  failed 
to  dissemble. 

While  Mr.  Iglesias  thus  noted  the  details  of  his  sur- 
roundings, his  companion  observed  him,  closely,  intently. 
Suddenly  she  flung  herself  back  against  the  piled-up 
cushions. 

"  Let  the  dust  lie,  let  it  lie,"  she  cried,  almost  shrilly. 
And  as  Dominic  turned  to  her,  surprised  at  her  vehe- 
mence, she  added,  "  Yes,  it's  safest  so.  Let  it  lie 
till  it  grows  thick,  carpeting  all  the  surface,  so  that, 
treading  on  it,  one's  footsteps  are  muffled,  making  no 
sound !  " 

Poppy  jumped  up,  crossed  swiftly  to  the  writing-table, 
swept  the  long  row  of  photographs  together  and  pushed 
them  into  a  drawer. 

"  There  you  go,  face  downwards,  every  man  Jack  of 
you,"  she  said,  "  And,  for  all  I  care,  there  you  may 
Stay," 


108  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

Then  she  turned  round,  confronting  Dominic  Iglesias, 
who  had  risen  also,  her  head  carried  high,  her  teeth  set. 

"  You  may  not  grasp  the  connection  of  ideas — I  don't 
the  very  least  see  how  you  should,  and  I've  no  extra 
special  wish  that  you  should.  But  you  must  just  take 
my  word  for  it  that's  one  way  of  thickening  the  dust,  in 
my  particular  case,  and  not  half  a  bad  way  either ! " 

She  pushed  the  heavy  masses  of  her  hair  up  from  her 
forehead,  crossed  the  little  room  again  and  stood  before 
Iglesias  smiling,  her  hands  clasped  behind  her  back. 

"  Yes,  you  rest  me,"  she  said,  "  you  do,  even  more 
than  I  expected.  I  wanted  awfully  to  see  you;  and  yet 
I  was  half  afraid  if  I  did  we  mightn't  pull  the  thing  off. 
But  we  are  going  to  pull  it  off,  aren't  we?  " 

This  direct  appeal  demanded  a  direct  answer;  and 
Iglesias,  looking  down  at  her,  felt  nerved  to  a  certain 
steadiness  of  resolve. 

"  Yes,  we  are,"  he  said  gravely.  "  That,  at  least,  is 
my  purpose.  I  have  very  few  friends.  I  should  value 
a  new  one."  Then  he  added,  with  a  certain  hesitancy, 
"  I  am  glad  you  are  not  disappointed." 

"  Ah !  you  have  come  on — not  a  question  about  it," 
Poppy  cried.  "  Sit  down  again.  You  needn't  go  yet. 
And  we  are  through  with  disturbances  for  this  afternoon 
anyhow.  An  anti-cyclone,  as  the  weather  reports  put 
it,  is  extending  over  all  our  coasts.  I  feel  quite  happy. 
Let  me  enjoy  the  anti-cyclone  while  it  lasts — and  I'll 
give  you  your  tea." 

But  of  that  tea  Dominic  Iglesias  was  fated  not  to 
drink.  A  ring  at  the  bell,  a  parley  at  the  front  door, 
followed  by  the  advent  of  an  elderly  parlourmaid  bearing 
a  card  on  a  small  lacquer  tray. 

"  His  lordship  says  if  you're  engaged  he  could  wait 
a  little,  ma'am.  But  he  wants  particularly  to  see  you 
to-day." 


109 

Poppy  took  the  card,  glanced  at  it,  and  then  at  Dom- 
inic Iglesias. 

"  I'm  afraid,  I'm  awfully  afraid  I  shall  have  to  let 
you  go,"  she  said.  She  took  both  his  hands,  and  holding 
them,  without  pressure  but  with  a  great  friendliness,  went 
on :  "  Don't  be  offended,  or  you'll  make  me  miserable. 
But  he's  an  old  friend ;  and  he's  been  a  perfect  brick  to 
me— ^stood  by  me  through  all  my  worst  luck.  I  can't  send 
him,,  away.  You  won't  be  offended?  " 

"  No,"   Iglesias  said. 

"  And  you  will  come  again  ?  You  make  me  feel  all 
smooth  and  good.  You  promise  you'll  come?  " 

"  Yes,"  Iglesias  said. 

In  the  narrow  passage  a  tall,  eminently  well-dressed 
middle-aged  gentleman  stood  aside  to  let  him  pass. 
Dominic  Iglesias  received  the  impression  of  a  very  hand- 
some person,  whose  possible  insolence  of  bearing  re- 
ceived agreeable  modification,  thanks  to  the  expression  of 
kindly  humorous  eyes  and  a  notably  beautiful  mouth. 

Upon  the  centre  table  of  the  square  first-floor  sitting- 
room  at  Cedar  Lodge  a  note  awaited  Mr.  Iglesias,  ad- 
dressed in  George  Lovegrove's  neat  business  hand. 

"  Dear  old  friend,"  it  ran — "  the  wife  asks  you  to  take 
supper  with  us  to-morrow  night.  Step  across  as  early 
as  you  like.  My  cousin,  Miss  Serena  Lovegrove,  is  pay- 
ing us  a  visit.  Yours  faithfully,  G.  L. — N.  B.  Come  as 
you  are:  no  ceremony.  G.  L." 


CHAPTER    XI 

"  HULLO,  girlie,"  called  the  red  and  green  parrot,  as  it 
helped  itself  up  the  side  of  its  zinc  cage  with  beak  as  well 
as  claws. 

Serena  Lovegrove  had  opened  the  door  suddenly.  Then, 
seeing  that  Mr.  Iglesias  alone  occupied  the  room,  neither 
her  host  nor  hostess  being  present,  she  paused  in  the 
doorway,  a  large  floppy  yellow  silk  work-bag  in  her  hands, 
undecided  whether  to  retreat  or  to  proceed.  And  it  was 
thus  that  the  bird,  discovering  her  advent,  announced 
it,  while  the  pupils  of  his  hard,  round  yellowish  grey  eyes 
dilated  and  contracted — "  snapped,"  as  Serena  would  have 
said — maliciously. 

Serena  was  a  tall,  elegant,  faded  woman,  dressed  in 
black,  her  little  upright  head  balanced  upon  a  long  thin 
stalk  of  neck.  Though  undeniably  faded,  there  was,  as 
now  seen  in  the  quiet  evening  light,  a  suggestion  of  youth- 
fulness  about  her.  Her  brown  eyes,  pretty  though  rather 
small,  snapped  even  as  did  those  of  the  parrot.  Excite- 
ment— to-night  she  was  very  much  excited — invariably 
produced  in  Serena  an  effect  of  clutching  at  her  long- 
departed  girlhood,  an  effect  sufficiently  pathetic  in  the 
case  of  a  woman  well  on  in  the  forties.  And  it  was  pre- 
cisely this  ineffectual  throw-back  to  a  Serena  of  seven- 
teen or  eighteen  which  lent  a  sharp  edge  of  irony  to 
the  strident  salutations  of  the  parrot,  as  it  called  out 
again : 

"  Hullo,  girlie !  Polly's  own  pet  girlie,"  then  with  a 
prolonged  and  ear-piercing  whistle: — "Hi,  four-wheeler! 
girlie's  going  out."  And  hoarsely,  with  a  growl  in  its 
throat:  "Move  on  there,  stoopid,  can't  yer?  Shut  the 
door." 

110 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  111 

Buring  the  delivery  of  these  final  admonitions  Mr. 
Iglesias  had  recognised  the  shadowy  figure  standing  on 
the  threshold  and  advanced.  This  decided  Serena.  Still 
twisting  the  ribbons  of  the  yellow  work-bag  round  her 
thin  fingers,  she  drifted  into  the  room. 

"  I  think  I  have  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  you  once 
or  twice  before,  Miss  Lovegrove,"  Dominic  said.  His 
manner  was  specially  gentle  and  courtly,  for  he  could 
not  but  feel  the  poor  lady  was  at  a  disadvantage,  owing 
to  the  very  articulate  indiscretions  of  the  parrot. 

"  Oh !  yes,"  Serena  answered.  "  Certainly  we  have 
met.  But  you  are  wrong  as  to  the  number  of  times. 
It  is  more  than  once  or  twice.  Five  times,  I  think;  or 
it  may  have  been  six.  No,  it  is  five,  because  I  remember 
you  were  expected,  in  the  evening,  the  day  before  I  went 
home  the  winter  before  last ;  and  at  the  last  moment  you 
were  unable  to  come.  That  would  have  made  six.  Now 
it  is  only  five." 

"  You  have  an  excellent  memory,"  Iglesias  said.  "  It 
is  kind  of  you  to  remember  so  clearly." 

"  I  wonder  if  it  is — I  mean,  I  wonder  whether  it  is 
kind,"  Serena  rejoined. 

She  was  quite  innocent  of  any  intention  of  sarcasm. 
But  her  mind,  like  those  of  so  many  unoccupied,  and  con- 
sequently self-occupied,  persons,  was  addicted  to  specu- 
lation of  a  minor  and  vacuous  sort.  She  was  also  liable 
— as  such  persons  often  are — to  mistake  cavilling  for 
spirit  and  wit — a  most  tedious  error! 

"  Still  you  are  right  in  saying  I  have  a  good  memory," 
she  added.  "  People  generally  observe  that.  But  then 
I  was  always  taught  it  was  rude  to  forget.  Forgetful- 
ness  is  the  result  of  inattention.  At  school  I  never  had 
any  difficulty  in  learning  by  heart." 

"  You  must  have  found  that  both  a  useful  and  pleasant 
talent." 


THE     FAR     HORIZON 

"  Perhaps,"  Serena  replied  negligently.  She  was  de- 
termined not  to  commit  herself,  having  arrived  at  the 
conclusion  that  Mr.  Iglesias'  address  was  too  civil.  "  It 
was  bad  manners  of  him  not  to  remember  how  often  we 
had  met,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  and  now  he  is  trying  to 
pass  it  off.  But  that  won't  do !  "  Serena  had  many  and 
distinct  views  on  the  subject  of  manner  and  manners. 
She  was  never  certain  that  civility  did  not  argue  a  de- 
fect of  sincerity.  She  agreed  with  herself  to  think  that 
over  again  later.  Meanwhile  she  would  carefully  remark 
Mr.  Iglesias.  "  If  he  is  insincere,  as  I  fear  he  is,  he 
is  sure  to  betray  it  in  other  ways.  Then  I  shall  be  on 
my  guard."  Forewarned  is,  of  course,  forearmed,  and 
Serena  felt  very  acute.  Though  against  exactly  what 
she  was  taking  such  elaborate  precautions,  it  would  have 
been  difficult  for  her,  or  for  anyone  else,  to  have  stated. 
However,  just  now  it  was  incumbent  upon  her  to  make 
conversation.  As  is  the  way  with  persons  not  very  fer- 
tile in  ideas,  she  had  recourse  to  the  simple  expedient  of 
asking  a  leading  question. 

"  Are  you  fond  of  animals  ?  "  she  inquired. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  have  very  little  knowledge  of  animals," 
Iglesias  replied. 

Serena  laughed  dryly.  This  was  so  transparent  a  sub- 
terfuge. 

"  What  a  very  odd  answer !  "  she  said.  "  Because  ev- 
erybody must  really  know  whether  they  like  animals  or 
not." 

"  I  am  afraid  I  stand  by  myself  then,  a  solitary  ex- 
ception. I  have  had  little  or  nothing  to  do  with  animals, 
and  have  therefore  had  no  opportunity  of  discovering 
whether  they  attract  me  or  not." 

"  How  very  odd !  "  Serena  repeated. 

She  moved  across  to  the  centre-table  where  Mr.  Love- 
grove's  books  of  picture  postcards,  the  miscellaneous  con- 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  113 

sequences  of  many  charity  bazaars,  and  kindred  aesthetic 
treasures  reposed,  and  deposited  her  work-bag  in  their 
company.  Her  movement  revived  the  attention  of  the 
parrot,  who  had  been  nodding  on  its  perch. 

"  Poor  old  girlie,  take  a  brandy  and  soda?  Kiss  and 
be  friends.  Good-night,  all,"  it  murmured  hoarsely,  half 
asleep. 

"  If  your  question  bore  reference  to  that  particular 
aninaal,  I  stand  in  no  doubt  as  to  my  sentiments,"  Dominic 
remarked.  "  I  am  anything  but  fond  of  it.  I  think  it 
an  odious  bird." 

"  Ah !  you  see  you  do  know,"  Serena  exclaimed.  "  I 
was  sure  you  did."  She  felt  justified  in  her  suspicion  of 
his  sincerity.  "  But  nobody  would  agree  with  you,  Mr. 
Iglesias,  because  of  course  it  is  really  a  very  clever  par- 
rot. They  very  seldom  learn  to  say  so  many  things." 

"  How  fortunate ! "  Dominic  permitted  himself  to 
ejaculate. 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  should  say  it  is  fortunate." 

"  Do  not  its  remarks  strike  you  as  somewhat  imperti- 
nent and  intrusive?  " 

"  I  wonder  if  an  animal  can  be  impertinent,"  Serena 
said  reflectively. 

But  here  to  her  vexation,  for  it  appeared  to  her  that 
she  had  just  started  a  really  interesting  subject  of  dis- 
cussion, Mrs.  Lovegrove  bustled  into  the  room. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Iglesias,"  she  began,  "  I  am  sure  I  am 
very  delighted  to  see  you,  and  so  will  Georgie  be.  He 
was  remarking  only  yesterday  we  don't  seem  to  see  so 
much  of  you  as  we  used  to  do.  He's  just  a  little  behind 
time,  is  Georgie,  having  been  kept  by  the  dear  vicar  at 
a  meeting  about  the  Church  Workers'  Social  Evenings 
Guild  at  the  Mission  Room  in  Little  Bethesda  Street. 
You  wouldn't  know  where  that  is,  Mr.  Iglesias — though 
I  can't  help  hoping  you  will  some  day — but  Serena  knows, 


114  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

don't  you,  Serena?  It's  where  Susan — her  elder  sister, 
Miss  Lovegrove  " — this  aside  to  Dominic — "  gave  an 
address  once  to  the  members  of  the  Society  for  the  Con- 
version of  the  Jews." 

"  No  doubt  I  remember ;  but  Susan  is  always  giving 
addresses  somewhere,"  Serena  said  loftily. 

"  And  very  good  and  kind  of  her  it  is  to  give  ad- 
dresses," Mrs.  Lovegrove  rejoined.  "  Even  the  dear  vicar 
says  what  a  remarkable  gift  she  has  as  a  speaker,  and 
there's  no  question  as  to  the  worth  of  his  praise." 

"  I  wonder  if  it  is — I  mean  I  wonder  if  it  is  good  and 
kind  of  Susan  to  give  addresses,"  Serena  remarked.  "  Be- 
cause of  course  she  enjoys  giving  them.  Susan  likes 
to  have  a  number  of  people  listening  to  her." 

"But  if  the  object  is  a  noble  one?" — this  from  Mrs. 
Lovegrove,  a  little  nonplussed  and  put  about. 

"  Still,  if  you  enjoy  doing  anything,  how  can  it  be 
good  and  kind  to  do  it  ?  "  Serena  said  argumentatively . 
"  Susan  is  very  fond  of  publicity.  I  think  people  very 
often  deceive  themselves  about  their  own  motives." 

She  looked  meaningly  at  Dominic  Iglesias  as  she  spoke. 
And  he  looked  back  at  her  gravely  and  kindly,  though 
with  a  slightly  amused  smile.  His  thoughts  had  trav- 
elled away — they  had  done  so  pretty  frequently  during 
the  last  twenty-four  hours — to  the  smirking  self-conscious 
little  house  on  the  verge  of  Barnes  Common.  Unprom- 
ising though  it  had  appeared  outwardly,  yet  within  it 
he  believed  he  had  found  a  friend — a  friend  who  was  also 
an  enigma.  Perhaps,  as  he  now  reflected,  all  women  are 
enigmas.  Certainly  they  are  amazingly  different.  He 
thought  of  Poppy.  He  looked  at  Serena.  Yes,  doubt- 
less they  all  are  enigmas ;  only — might  Heaven  forgive 
him  the  discourtesy — all  are  not  enigmas  equally  well 
worth  finding  out. 

George  Lovegrove  arrived.     Supper,  a  somewhat  heavy 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  115 

and  '  hybrid  meal,  followed — "  all  comfortable  and 
friendly,"  as  Mrs.  Lovegrove  described  it,  "  no  ceremony 
and  fal-lals,  but  everything  put  down  on  the  table  so 
that  you  could  see  it  and  please  yourself." 

Serena,  however,  was  difficult  to  please.  She  picked 
daintily  at  the  food  on  her  plate.  Her  host  observed 
her  with  solicitude. 

"Do  take  a  little  more,"  he  said,  in  an  anxious  aside, 
Mrs.  Lovegrove  being  safely  engaged  in  conversation 
with  Mr.  Iglesias,  "  or  I  shall  begin  to  be  nervous  lest 
we  aren't  offering  you  quite  what  you  like." 

But  Serena  was  obdurate. 

"  Pray  don't  mind,  George,"  she  said.  "  You  know 
I  never  eat  much.  I  am  quite  different  from  Susan,  for 
instance.  She  always  has  a  large  appetite,  and  so  have 
all  her  friends.  Low  Church  people  always  have,  I  think. 
But  I  never  care  to  eat  a  great  deal,  especially  in  hot 
weather." 

Serena  was  really  very  glad  indeed  to  come  to  London 
just  now.  Still,  there  were  self-respecting  decencies  to 
be  observed,  specially  in  the  presence  of  another  guest. 
Relationship  does  not  necessarily  imply  social  equality ; 
and,  as  Serena  reminded  herself,  the  family  always  had 
felt  that  poor  George  had  married  beneath  him.  There- 
fore it  was  well  to  keep  the  fact  of  her  own  superior 
refinement  well  in  view.  In  the  case  of  good  George  Love- 
grove  this  was,  however,  a  work  of  supererogation.  For 
he  had  a,  to  himself,  positively  embarrassing  respect  for 
Serena's  gentility — embarrassing  because  at  moments  it 
came  painfully  near  endangering  the  completeness  of  his 
consideration  for  "  the  wife's  feelings."  The  two  ladies 
frequently  differed  upon  matters  of  taste  and  etiquette, 
with  the  result  that  the  good  man's  guileless  breast  was 
torn  by  conflicting  emotions.  For  had  not  Serena's 
father  been  a  General  Officer  of  the  Indian  army?  And 


116  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

had  not  Serena  herself  and  her  elder  sister  Susan — a 
person  of  definite  views  and  commanding  character — long 
been  resident  at  Slowby  in  Midlandshire,  an  inland' 
watering-place  of  acknowledged  fashion?  It  followed 
that  her  pronouncements  on  social  questions  were  neces- 
sarily final.  Yet  to  uphold  her  judgment,  as  against 
that  of  the  wife,  was  to  risk  mortifying  the  latter.  Andt 
to  mortify  the  wife  would  be  to  act  as  a  heartless  scoun- 
drel. Hence  situations,  for  George  Lovegrove,  difficult 
to  the  point  of  producing  profuse  perspiration. 

That  night  Serena  prepared  for  rest  with  remarkable 
deliberation.  Clad  in  a  blue  and  white  striped  cotton 
dressing-gown,  she  sat  long  at  her  toilet-table.  And  all 
the  time  she  wondered — a  far-reaching,  mazelike,  elabo- 
rately intricate  and  wholly  inconclusive  wonder.  Hers 
was  a  nature  which  suffered  perpetual  solicitation  from 
possible  alternatives,  hearing  warning  voices  from  the 
vague,  delusive  regions  of  the  might-be  or  might-have- 
been.  She  had  never  grasped  the  rudimentary  but  very 
important  truth  that  only  that  which  actually  is  in  the 
least  matters.  And  so  to  arrive  at  what  is,  with  all  possible 
despatch — in  so  far  as  such  arriving  is  practicable — and 
then  to  go  forward,  comprises  the  whole  duty  of  the  sane 
human  being.  Far  from  this,  Serena's  mind  forever 
flitted  batlike  in  the  half -darkness  of  innumerable  small 
prejudices  and  ignorances.  She  moved,  as  do  so  many 
women  of  her  class,  in  a  twilight,  embryonic  world,  un- 
touched  alike  by  the  splendour  and  terror  of  living. 

Nevertheless,  on  this  particular  occasion,  as  she 
brushed  her  hair  and  inserted  the  tortoise-shell  curling- 
pins  which  should  secure  to-morrow's  decorative  effects, 
she  felt  almost  daring  and  dangerous.  She  wondered 
whether  she  had  really  enjoyed  the  evening  or  not; 
whether  she  had  held  her  own  and  shown  independence 
and  spirit.  She  laboured  under  the  quaint  early-Victo- 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  117 

rian'notion  that,  in  the  presence  of  members  of  the  oppo- 
site sex,  a  woman  is  called  upon  always  to  play  something 
of  a  part.  She  should  advance,  so  to  speak,  and  then 
retreat ;  provoke  interest  by  a  studied  indifference ;  yield 
a  little,  only  to  become  more  elegantly  fugitive.  It  may 
be  doubted  whether  these  wiles  have  ever  been  a  very 
successful  adjunct  to  feminine  charms.  But  in  the  case 
of  so  negative  and  colourless  a  creature  as  Serena,  they 
were  pathetically  devoid  of  result.  Play  a  part  indus- 
triously as  she  might,  the  majority  of  her  audience  was 
wholly  unaware  that  she  was,  in  point  of  fact,  playing 
anything  at  all !  They  might  think  her  a  little  capricious, 
a  little  foolish,  but  that  there  was  intention  or  purpose 
in  her  pallid  flightiness  passed  the  bounds  of  imagination. 
Never  mind,  if  the  audience  had  no  sense  of  the  position, 
Serena  had,  and  she  enjoyed  it.  Excitement  possessed 
her,  and  her  eyes  snapped  even  yet  as,  thinking  it  all 
over,  she  fastened  the  curlers  in  her  hair. 

She  wondered  whether  George  and  Rhoda — how  in? 
tensely  she  disliked  the  name  Rhoda! — had  any  special 
reason  for  asking  her  just  now,  and  talking  so  much  about 
Mr.  Iglesias,  or  whether  it  was  a  coincidence. 

"  Of  course  it  is  not  of  the  slightest  importance  to  me 
whether  they  have  or  not,"  she  reflected.  "  I  think  it 
would  be  rather  an  impertinence  if  they  had.  Still,  I 
think  I  had  better  find  out;  but  without  letting  Rhoda 
suspect,  of  course.  If  you  give  her  any  encouragement 
Rhoda  is  inclined  to  go  too  far  and  say  what  is  rather 
indelicate.  I  always  have  thought  Rhoda  had  a  rather 
vulgar  mind.  I  wonder  if  poor  George  feels  that?  I 
believe  he  does,  before  me.  Once  or  twice  to-night  he 
was  very  nervous.  How  dreadfully  coarse  poor  Rhoda's 
skin  is  getting!  I  wonder  if  Rhoda  has  given  Susan  a 
hint,  and  if  that  was  what  made  Susan  so  gracious  about 
my  leaving  home?  But  I  don't  believe  she  did — I  mean 


118  THE    FAR    HORIZON 

that  Susan  suspected  that  George  and  Rhoda  had  any 
particular  reason  for  inviting  me.  I  wonder  if  I  shall 
ever  make  Susan  see  that  I  am  not  a  cipher?  Of  course 
if  George  and  Rhoda  really  have  any  particular  reason, 
and  Susan  comes  to  know  it,  that  will  show  her  that 
other  people  do  not  consider  me  a  cipher.  I  wonder  what 
most  people  would  think  of  Mr.  Iglesias?  Of  course 
he  has  only  been  a  bank  clerk;  but  then  so  has  George. 
Only  then  he  is  a  foreigner,  and  that  makes  a  difference. 
I  wonder  whether,  if  anything  came  of  it,  Susan  would 
make  his  being  a  foreigner  an  objection?  " 

But  this  was  growing  altogether  too  definite  and  con- 
crete. With  a  sort  of  mental  squeak  Serena's  thought 
flitted  into  twilight  and  embryonic  regions. 

"  I  think  if  they  have  any  particular  reason,  it  is  rather 
scheming  of  George  and  Rhoda.  I  wonder  if  it  is  nice 
of  them?  If  they  have,  I  think  it  is  rather  deceitful.  I 
wonder  if  they  have  said  anything  to  Mr.  Iglesias?  " 

Serena,  with  the  aid  of  a  curling-pin,  was  controlling 
the  short  fuzzy  little  hairs  just  at  the  nape  of  her  neck; 
and  this  last  wonder  proved  so  absorbing  a  one  that  she 
remained,  head  bent  and  fingers  aimlessly  fiddling  with 
the  bars  of  the  curler,  till  it  suddenly  occurred  to  her 
that  she  was  getting  quite  stiff. 

"  If  they  have,  I  think  it  is  very  presuming  of  them," 
she  continued  wrathfully,  stretching  her  arms,  for  they 
ached — "  very  presuming.  How  glad  I  am  I  was  on  my 
guard.  I  wonder  if  they  saw  I  was  on  my  guard?  I 
believe  George  did.  I  wonder  if  that  helped  to  make  him 
nervous?  " 

Serena  fastened  in  the  last  of  the  curlers.  There  was 
no  excuse  for  sitting  up  any  longer;  yet  she  lingered. 

"  I  must  be  more  on  my  guard  than  ever,"  she  said. 

Meanwhile  Dominic  Iglesias,  after  sitting  in  the  din- 
mg-ropm  with  his  old  friend  while  the  latter  smoked  a 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  119 

last  pipe,  made  his  way  across  the  Green  in  the  deepen- 
ing mystery  of  the  summer  night.  The  sky  was  moonless ; 
and  at  the  zenith,  untouched  by  the  upward  streaming 
light  of  the  great  city,  the  stars  showed  fair  and  bright. 
A  nostalgia  of  wide  untenanted  spaces,  of  far  horizons, 
of  emotions  at  once  intimate  and  rooted  in  things  eternal, 
was  upon  him.  But  of  Serena  Lovegrove,  it  must  be 
admitted,  he  thought  not  one  little  bit. 


CHAPTER    XII 

ONLY  one  of  the  trees  from  which  Cedar  Lodge  derives 
its  name  was  still  standing.  This  lonely  giant,  sombre 
exile  from  Libanus,  overshadowed  all  that  remained  of 
the  formerly  extensive  garden  and  sensibly  darkened  the 
back  of  the  house.  Its  foliage,  spread  like  a  deep  pile 
carpet  upon  the  wide  horizontal  branches,  was  worn  and 
sparse,  showing  small  promise  of  self-renewal.  Yet 
though  starved  by  the  exhausted  soil,  and  clogged  by 
soots  from  innumerable  chimneys,  it  remained  majestic, 
finely  decorative  as  some  tree  of  metal,  of  age-old  bronze 
roughened  by  a  greenness  of  deep-eating  rust.  From  the 
first  moment  of  his  acquaintance  with  Cedar  Lodge  it 
had  been  to  Dominic  Iglesias  an  object  of  attraction, 
even  of  sympathy.  For  he  recognised  in  it  something 
stoical,  an  unmoved  dignity  and  lofty  indifference  to  the 
sordid  commonplace  of  its  surroundings.  It  made  no 
concessions  to  adverse  circumstances,  but  remained 
proudly  itself,  owning  for  sole  comrade  the  Wind — that 
most  mysterious  of  all  created  things,  unseen,  untamed, 
mateless,  incalculable.  The  wind  gave  it  voice,  gave 
it  even  a  measure  of  mobility,  as  it  swept  through  the 
labyrinth  of  dry  unfruitful  branches  and  awoke  a  husky 
music  telling  of  far-distant  times  and  places,  making  a 
shuddering  and  stirring  as  of  the  resurgence  of  long-for- 
gotten hope  and  passion. 

When  Dominic  entered  into  residence  at  Cedar  Lodge, 
a  pair  of  stout  mauve-brown  wood-pigeons — migrants 
from  the  pleasant  elms  of  Holland  Park — had  haunted 
the  tree.  But  they  being,  for  all  their  dolorous  coo- 
ings,  birds  of  a  lusty,  not  to  say  truculent,  habit,  grew 
weary  of  its  persistent  solemnity  of  aspect.  So,  at  least, 

120 


THE     FAR     HORIZON 

Dominic  judged.  He  had  been  an  interested  spectator 
of  the  love-makings,  quarrels,  and  reconciliations  of  these 
comely  neighbours  from  his  bedroom  window  daily  while 
dressing.  But  one  fine  spring  morning  he  saw  them  fly 
away  and  never  saw  them  fly  back  again.  Clearly  they 
had  removed  themselves  to  less  solemn  quarters,  leaving 
the  great  tree,  save  for  fugitive  visitations  from  its  com- 
rade'the  wind,  to  solitary  meditation  within  the  borders 
of  its  narrow  prison-place. 

Besides  presenting  in  itself  an  object  altogether  ma- 
jestical,  the  cedar  performed  a  practical  office  whereby 
it  earned  Iglesias'  gratitude.  For  its  dark  interposing 
bulk  effectually  shut  off  the  view  of  an  aggressively 
new  rawly  red  steam  laundry,  with  shiny  slate  roofs  and 
a  huge  smoke-belching  chimney  to  it,  which,  to  the  con- 
vulsive disgust  of  the  gentility  of  the  eastern  side  of 
Trimmer's  Green,  had  had  the  unpardonable  impertinence 
to  get  itself  erected  in  an  adjacent  street.  It  followed 
that  when,  one  wet  evening,  yellow-headed  little  Mr.  Farge 
had  advised  himself  to  speak  slightingly  of  the  cedar  tree, 
Iglesias  was  prepared  to  defend  it,  if  necessary,  with 
some  warmth. 

The  conversation  had  ranged  round  the  subject  of 
the  hour,  namely,  the  possibility — as  yet  in  the  estima- 
tion of  most  persons  an  incredible  one — of  war  with  the 
Boer  Republics,  when  the  young  man  indulged  in  a  play- 
ful aside  addressed  to  Miss  Hart,  at  whose  right  hand  he 
was  seated. 

"  If  I  could  find  fault  with  anything  belonging  to  the 
lady  at  the  head  of  the  table,"  he  said,  "  it  would  be  the 
gloomy  old  party  looking  in  at  these  back  windows." 

"  What,  the  dear  old  cedar  tree !  Never,  Mr.  Farge ! " 
protested  Eliza. 

"  Yes,  it  would,  though,"  he  insisted,  "  when,  as  to- 
night, it  is  drip,  drip,  dripping  all  over  the  shop.  No 


122  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

touch  of  Sunny  Jim  about  him,  is  there  now,  Bert?" 
— this  to  the  devoted  Worthington  sitting  immediately 
opposite  to  him  on  Miss  Hart's  left. 

"  Truly  there  is  not,  if  I  may  venture  so  far,"  the 
other  young  gentleman  responded,  playing  up  obediently. 
"  And  if  anything  could  give  me  and  Charlie  a  fit  of 
the  blues,  I  believe  that  old  fellow  would  in  rainy 
weather." 

"  Makes  you  think  of  the  cemetery,  does  it  not  now, 
Bert?" 

"  You  have  hit  it.  Paddington — not  the  station 
though,  Charlie,  just  starting  for  a  cosey  little  trip  with 
your  best  girl  up  the  river." 

"For  shame,  Mr.  Worthington,"  Eliza  protested 
again,  giggling. 

"  Suggestive  of  the  end  of  all  week-ends,  in  short," 
de  Courcy  Smyth,  who  contrary  to  his  custom  was  pres- 
ent at  dinner  that  evening,  put  in  snarlingly.  "  One 
last  trip  up  the  River  of  Death  for  you,  with  a  ticket 
marked  not  transferable,  eh,  Farge?  Then  an  oblong 
hole  in  the  reeking  blue  clay,  silence  and  worms," 

His  tone  was  spiteful  to  the  point  of  commanding  at- 
tention. A  hush  fell  on  the  company,  broken  only  by  the 
drifting  sob  of  the  rain  through  the  branches  of  the 
great  cedar.  Mr.  Farge  went  perceptibly  pale.  Mrs. 
Porcher  sighed  and  turned  her  fine  eyes  up  to  the  ceiling. 
Iglesias  looked  curiously  at  the  speaker.  Eliza  Hart  was 
the  first  to  find  voice. 

"  Pray,  Mr.  Smyth,"  she  said,  "  don't  be  so  very  un- 
pleasant. You're  enough  to  give  one  the  goose-skin  all 
over." 

"  I  am  sorry  I  have  offended,"  he  answered  sullenly. 
"  But  I  beg  leave  to  call  attention  to  the  fact  that  I 
did  not  start  this  subject.  I  was  rather  interested  in 
the  previous  discussion,  which  gave  an  opportunity  of 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  123 

intelligent  conversation  not  habitual  among  us.  Farge 
is  responsible  for  the  interruption,  and  for  the  ceme- 
teries, and  consequently  for  my  comment.  Still,  I  am 
sorry  I  have  offended." 

He  shifted  his  position,  glancing  uneasily  first  at  his 
hostess,  and  then  at  Dominic  Iglesias,  who  sat  opposite 
him  in  the  place  of  honour  at  that  lady's  right  hand. 

"You  have  not  offended,  Mr.  Smyth,"  Mrs.  Porcher 
declared  graciously.  "  And  no  doubt  it  is  well  for  us 
all  to  be  reminded  of  death  and  burial  at  times.  Though 
some  of  us  hardly  need  reminding  " — again  she  sighed. 
"  We  carry  the  thought  of  them  about  with  us  al- 
ways." And  she  turned  her  fine  eyes  languidly  upon  Mr. 
Iglesias. 

"  My  poor  sweet  Peachie,"  the  kind-hearted  Eliza  mur- 
mured, under  her  breath. 

"  But  at  meals,  perhaps,  a  lighter  vein  is  more  suit- 
able, Mr.  Smyth,"  Mrs.  Porcher  continued.  "  At  table 
the  thought  of  death  does  seem  rather  disheartening, 
does  it  not?  But  about  our  poor  old  cedar  tree  now, 
Mr.  Farge?  You  were  not  seriously  proposing  to  have 
it  removed?  " 

"  Well,  strictly  between  ourselves,  I  am  really  half 
afraid  I  actually  was." 

"  You  forget  it  sheltered  my  childhood.  It  is  asso- 
ciated with  all  my  past." 

"  Can  a  rosebud  have  a  past?  "  Farge  cried,  coming 
up  to  the  surface  again  with  a  bounce,  so  to  speak. 

Mrs.  Porcher  smiled,  shook  her  head  in  graceful  re- 
proof, and  turned  once  more  to  Dominic. 

"  I  think  we  should  all  like  to  know  how  you  feel  about 
it,  Mr.  Iglesias,"  she  said.  "  Do  you  wish  the  poor  old 
tree  removed?  " 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  should  greatly  regret  its  being 
•?ut  down,"  he  answered.  "  It  would  be  a  loss  to  me 


THE     FAR     HORIZON 

personally,  for  I  have  always  taken  a  pleasure  both  in 
the  sound  and  the  sight  of  it.  But  that  is  a  minor 
consideration." 

"You  must  allow  me  to  differ  from  that  opinion," 
Mrs.  Porcher  remarked,  with  gentle  emphasis.  "  We 
can  never  forget,  can  we,  Eliza,  who  is  our  oldest  guest? 
Mr.  Iglesias'  opinion  must  ever  carry  weight  in  all  which 
concerns  Cedar  Lodge." 

Here  Farge  and  Worthington  made  round  eyes  at  one 
another,  while  de  Courcy  Smyth  shuffled  his  feet  under 
the  table.  He  had  received  a  disquieting  impression. 

"  Oh !  of  course,  Peachie,  dear,"  Miss  Hart  responded. 
She  hugged  herself  with  satisfaction.  "  The  darling 
looks  more  bonny  than  ever,"  she  reflected.  "  To-night 
what  animation!  What  tact!  She  seems  to  have  come 
out  so  lately,  since  that  Serena  Lovegrove  has  been  stop- 
ping over  the  way.  Not  that  there  could  be  any  rivalry 
between  her  and  that  poor  thread-paper  of  a  thing ! " 

Dominic  Iglesias,  however,  received  his  hostess'  pretty 
speeches  with  a  calm  which  turned  the  current  of  the 
ardent  Eliza's  thoughts,  causing  her  to  refer,  mentally, 
to  the  degree  of  emotion  which  might  be  predicated  of 
monuments,  mountains,  stone  elephants,  and  kindred 
objects. 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  he  said.  "  But  on  grounds  far 
more  important  than  those  of  any  private  sentiment  the 
cutting  down  of  the  cedar  calls  for  careful  considera- 
tion. I  am  afraid  you  would  find  it  a  serious  loss  to 
the  beauty  of  your  property.  What  the  house  loses  in 
light,  it  certainly  gains  in  distinction  and  interest  from 
the  presence  of  the  tree." 

"  Yes,"  Mrs.  Porcher  returned,  folding  her  plump 
pink  hands  upon  the  edge  of  the  table  and  looking  down 
modestly.  "  It  does  speak  of  family  perhaps." 

"  And   in   your    case,   dear,   it   speaks   nothing  more 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  125 

than'the  truth,"  Eliza  declared.  "  Just  as  well  a  certain 
gentleman  should  reckon  with  Peachie's  real  position," 
she  said  to  herself — "  specially  with  that  stuck-up  Serena 
Lovegrove  cat-and-mousing  about  on  the  other  side  of 
the  Green.  It  does  not  take  a  Solomon  to  see  what  she's 
after!" 

"  I  am  afraid  the  verdict  is  given  against  you,  Mr. 
Farge.  The  cedar  tree  will  remain."  Mrs.  Porcher  rose 
as  she  spoke. 

The  young  man  playfully  rubbed  his  eyes  with  his 
knuckles,  feigning  tears.  Then  a  scrimmage  ensued  be- 
tween him  and  Worthington  as  to  which  should  reach  the 
dining-room  door  first  and  throw  it  open  before  the  ladies. 
At  this  exhibition  of  high  spirits  de  Courcy  Smyth 
groaned  audibly,  while  Mrs.  Porcher,  linking  her  arm 
within  that  of  Miss  Hart,  lingered. 

"  You  will  join  our  little  circle  in  the  drawing-room 
to-night,  will  you  not,  Mr.  Iglesias  ?  "  she  pleaded. 

Again  the  young  men  made  round  eyes  at  one  another. 
De  Courcy  Smyth  had  come  forward.  He  stood  close 
to  Iglesias  and,  before  the  latter  could  answer,  spoke 
hurriedly : 

"  Can  you  give  me  ten  minutes  in  private?  I  don't 
want  to  press  myself  upon  you,  but  this  is  imperative." 

Iglesias  proceeded  to  excuse  himself  to  his  hostess, 
thereby  causing  Miss  Hart  to  refer  mentally  to  monu- 
ments and  mountains  once  again. 

"  Thank  you,"  Smyth  gasped.  His  face  was  twitching 
and  he  swayed  a  little,  steadying  himself  with  one  hand 
on  the  corner  of  the  dinner-table. 

"  I  loathe  asking,"  he  continued,  "  I  loathe  pressing 
my  society  upon  you,  since  you  do  not  seek  it.  It  has 
taken  days  for  me  to  make  up  my  mind  to  this;  but  it 
is  necessary.  And,  after  all,  you  made  the  original 
offer  yourself." 


126  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

"  I  am  quite  ready  to  listen,  and  to  renew  any  offer 
which  I  may  have  made,"  Iglesias  answered  quietly. 

"We  can't  talk  here,  though,"  Smyth  said.  "That 
blundering  ass  of  a  waiter  will  be  coming  in  directly; 
and  whatever  he  overhears  is  sure  to  go  the  round  of  the 
house.  All  servants  are  spies." 

"  We  can  go  up  to  my  sitting-room  and  talk  there5" 
Iglesias  replied. 

Yet  he  was  conscious  of  making  the  proposal  with  re- 
luctance, pity  struggling  against  repulsion.  For  not 
only  was  the  man's  appearance  very  unkempt,  but  his 
manner  and  bearing  were  eloquent  of  a  certain  despera- 
tion. Of  anything  approaching  physical  fear  Dominic 
Iglesias  was  happily  incapable.  But  his  sitting-room 
had  always  been  a  peaceful  place,  refuge  alike  from  the 
strain  and  monotony  of  his  working  life.  It  held  relics, 
moreover,  wholly  dear  to  him,  and  to  introduce  into  it 
this  inharmonious  and,  in  a  sense,  degraded  presence 
savoured  of  desecration.  Therefore,  not  without  fore- 
boding, as  of  one  who  risks  the  sacrifice  of  earnestly 
cherished  security,  he  ushered  his  guest  into  the  quiet 
room. 

The  gas,  the  small  heart-shaped  flames  of  which  showed 
white  against  the  dying  daylight  coming  in  through  the 
windows,  was  turned  low  in  the  bracket-lamps  on  either 
side  the  high  mantelpiece.  Dominic  Iglesias  moved  across 
and  drew  down  the  blinds,  catching  sight  as  he  did  so — 
between  the  tossing  foliage  of  the  balsam-poplars  which 
glistened  in  the  driving  wet — of  the  unwinking  gaselier 
in  the  Lovegroves*  dining-room,  on  the  other  side  of  the 
Green.  He  remembered  that  he  ought  to  have  called 
on  Mrs.  Lovegrove  and  Miss  Serena,  and  that  he  had  been 
guilty  of  a  lapse  of  etiquette  in  not  having  done  so.  But 
he  reflected  poor  Miss  Serena  was  a  person  whose  existence? 
it  seemed  so  curiously  difficult  to  bear  actively  in  mind. 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  127 

Then/  he  grew  penitent,  as  having  added  discourtesy  to 
discourtesy  in  permitting  himself  this  reflection.  He 
came  back  from  the  window,  turned  up  the  lights,  drew 
forward  an  armchair  and  motioned  Smyth  to  be  seated; 
fetched  a  cut-glass  spirit  decanter,  tumblers,  and  a 
syphon  of  soda  from  the  sideboard  and  set  them  at  his 
guest's  elbow. 

"  Pray  help  yourself,"  he  said.  "  And  here,  will  you 
not  smoke  while  we  talk?  " 

Smyth's  pale,  prominent  eyes  had  followed  these  prep- 
arations for  his  comfort  with  avidity,  but  now,  the  hand- 
some character  of  his  surroundings  being  fully  disclosed 
to  him,  he  was  filled  with  uncontrollable  envy.  Silently 
he  filled  his  glass,  by  no  means  stinting  the  amount  of 
alcohol,  gulped  down  half  the  contents  of  the  tumbler, 
paused  a  moment,  leaning  his  elbow  on  the  table,  and 
said: 

"  We  were  treated  to  a  public  exhibition  of  feminine 
cajolery  in  your  direction,  Mr.  Iglesias,  at  the  end  of 
dinner.  It  occurs  to  me  we  might  have  been  spared 
that.  I  have  never  had  the  honour  of  penetrating  into 
your  apartments  before;  but  the  aspect  of  them  is  quite 
sufficient  indication  as  to  who  is  the  favoured  member 
of  Mrs.  Porcher's  establishment." 

Dominic  had  remained  standing.  Hospitality  de- 
manded that  he  should  do  all  in  his  power  to  secure  his 
guest's  material  comfort;  but  there,  in  his  opinion,  im- 
mediate obligation  ceased.  In  thus  remaining  standing 
he  had  a  quaint  sense  of  safeguarding  the  sanctities  of 
the  place.  The  man's  tone  was  curiously  offensive.  In- 
voluntarily Mr.  Iglesias'  back  stiffened  a  little. 

"  I  took  these  rooms  unfurnished,"  he  said.  And  theiv 
added :  "  May  I  ask  what  your  business  with  me  may 
be?  " 

Smyth  had  recourse  to  his  tumbler  again.     His  hand 


128  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

shook  so  that  his  teeth  chattered  against  the  edge  of  the 
glass. 

"  I  am  a  fool,"  he  said  sullenly.  "  But  my  nerves  are 
all  to  pieces.  I  cannot  control  myself.  I  have  come  here 
to  ask  a  favour  of  you,  and  yet  some  devil  prompts  me 
to  insult  you.  I  hate  you  because  I  am  driven  to  make 
use  of  you.  And  this  room,  in  its  sober  luxury,  empha- 
sises the  indignity  of  the  position,  offering  as  it  does 
so  glaring  a  contrast  to  my  own  quarters — here  under 
the  same  roof,  only  one  flight  of  stairs  above — that  I  can 
hardly  endure  it.  Life  is  hideously  unjust.  For  what 
have  you  done — you,  a  mere  Canaanite,  hewer  of  wood 
and  drawer  of  water  to  some  grossly  Philistine  firm  of 
city  bankers — to  deserve  this  immunity  from  anxiety  and 
distress ;  while  I,  with  my  superior  culture,  my  ambition 
and  talents,  am  condemned  to  that  beastly  squeaking 
wire-wove  mattress  upstairs,  and  a  job-lot  of  furniture 
which  some  previous  German  waiter  has  ejected  in  dis- 
gust from  his  bedroom  in  the  basement?  But  there — I 
t>eg  your  pardon.  I  ought  to  be  accustomed  to  injustice. 
I  have  served  a  long  enough  apprenticeship  to  it.  Only 
— partly,  thanks  to  you,  I  own  that — I  have  seemed  to 
see  the  dawning  of  hope  again — hope  of  success,  hope 
of  recognition,  hope  of  revenge;  and  just  on  that  ac- 
count it  becomes  intolerable  to  run  one's  head  against 
this  paralysing,  stultifying  dead  wall  of  poverty  and 
debt." — He  bowed  himself  together,  and  his  voice  broke. 
— "  I  owe  Mrs.  Porcher  money  for  my  miserable  bed- 
sitting-room  and  my  board,  and  I  am  so  horribly  afraid 
she  will  turn  me  out.  The  place  is  detestable ;  unworthy 
of  me — of  course  it  is — but  I  am  accustomed  to  it.  And 
I  am  not  myself.  I  am  terrified  at  the  prospect  of  any 
change.  In  short,  I  am  worn  out.  And  they  see  that, 
those  beasts  of  editors.  The  Evening  Daily  Bulletin  has 
given  me  my  conge.  I  have  lost  the  last  of  my  hack- 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  129 

work.  It  was  miserable  work,  wholly  beneath  a  man  of 
my  capacity ;  still  it  brought  me  in  a  pittance.  Now  it 
is  gone.  Practically  I  am  a  pauper,  and  I  owe  money 
in  this  house." 

"  I  am  sorry,  very  sorry,"  Iglesias  said.  "  You  should 
have  spoken  sooner.  I  could  not  force  myself  into  your 
confidence ;  but,  believe  me,  I  have  not  been  unmindful  of 
my  Engagement.  I  have  merely  waited  for  you  to  speak." 

His  manner  was  gentle,  yet  he  remained  standing,  still 
possessed  by  an  instinct  to  thus  safeguard  the  sanctities 
of  the  place.  He  paused,  giving  the  other  man  time 
to  recover  a  measure  of  composure:  then  he  asked  kindly, 
anxious  to  conduct  the  conversation  into  a  happier  chan- 
nel: "Meanwhile,  how  is  the  play  advancing?  Well, 
I  hope — so  that  you  find  solace  and  satisfaction  in  the 
prosecution  of  it." 

Smyth  moved  uneasily,  looking  up  furtively  at  his  ques- 
tioner. 

"  Oh !  it  is  grand,"  he  said,  "unquestionably  it  is  grand. 
You  need  have  no  anxiety  under  that  head.  Pray  un- 
derstand that  anything  that  you  may  do  for  me  in  the 
interim,  before  the  play  is  produced,  is  simply  an  in- 
vestment. You  need  not  be  in  the  least  alarmed.  You 
will  see  all  your  money  back — see  it  doubled,  certainly 
doubled,  probably  trebled." 

"  I  was  not  thinking  of  investments,"  Iglesias  put  in 
quietly. 

"  But  I  am,"  Smyth  asserted.  "  Naturally  I  am.  You 
do  not  suppose  that  I  should  accept,  still  less  ask,  your 
help,  unless  I  was  certain  that  in  the  end  I  should  prove 
to  be  conferring,  rather  than  incurring,  a  favour?  You 
humiliate  me  by  assuming  this  attitude  of  disinterested 
generosity.  Let  me  warn  you  it  does  not  ring  true. 
Moreover,  in  assuming  it  you  do  not  treat  me  as  an 
equal;  and  that  I  resent.  It  is  mean  to  take  advantage 


130  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

of  my  sorrows  and  my  poverty,  and  exalt  yourself  thus 
at  my  expense.  Of  course  I  understand  your  point  of 
view.  From  your  associations  and  occupations  you  must 
inevitably  worship  the  god  of  wealth.  One  cannot  ex- 
pect anything  else  from  a  business  man.  You  gauge 
every  one's  intellectual  capacity  by  his  power  of  making 
money.  Well,  wait  then — just  wait;  and  when  that  play 
appears,  see  if  I  do  not  compel  you  to  rate  my  intellectual 
capacity  very  highly.  For  there  are  thousands  in  that 
play,  I  tell  you — tens  of  thousands.  It  is  only  in  the 
interim  that  I  am  reduced  to  this  detestable  position  of 
dependence.  I  know  the  worth  of  my  work,  if " 

But  Iglesias'  patience  was  beginning  to  wear  rather 
thin.  He  interposed  calmly,  yet  with  authority. 

"  Pardon  me,"  he  said,  "  but  it  is  irrelevant  to  discuss 
my  attitude  of  mind  or  my  past  occupations.  It  will  be 
more  agreeable  for  us,  both  now  and  in  the  future,  to 
treat  any  matters  that  arise  between  us  as  impersonally 
as  possible.  Therefore,  I  will  ask  you  to  tell  me,  simply 
and  clearly,  how  much  you  require  to  clear  you  from  im- 
mediate difficulty;  and  I  will  tell  you,  in  return,  whether 
I  am  in  a  position  to  meet  your  wishes  or  not." 

For  a  moment  Smyth  sat  silent,  his  hands  working 
nervously  along  the  arms  of  the  chair. 

"  You  understand  it  is  merely  a  temporary  accommo- 
dation? " 

"  Yes,"  Iglesias  answered.  "  I  understand.  And  con- 
sequently it  is  superfluous  to  indulge  in  further  discus- 
sion." 

"  You  want  to  get  rid  of  me,"  Smyth  snarled.  "  Every- 
one wants  to  get  rid  of  me ;  I  am  unwelcome.  The  poor 
and  unsuccessful  always  are  so,  I  suppose.  But  some  day 
the  tables  will  be  turned — if  I  can  only  last." 

And  Dominic  Iglesias  found  himself  called  upon  to 
rally  all  his  humanity,  all  his  faith  in  merciful  dealing 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  131 

and ''the  reward  which  goes  along  with  it.  For  it  was 
hard  to  give,  hard  to  befriend,  so  thankless  and  ungra- 
cious a  being.  Yet,  having  put  his  hand  to  the  plough, 
he  refused  to  look  back.  He  had  inherited  a  strain  of 
fanaticism  which  took  the  form  of  unswerving  loyalty 
to  his  own  word  once  given.  So  he  spoke  gravely  .and 
kindly,  as  one  speaks  to  the  sick  who  are  beyond  the 
obligation  of  showing  courtesy  for  very  suffering.  And 
truly,  as  he  reminded  himself,  this  man  was  grievously 
sick ;  not  only  physically  from  insufficient  food,  but  mor- 
ally from  disappointment  and  that  most  fruitful  source  of 
disease,  inordinate  and  unsatisfied  vanity. 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  get  rid  of  you ;  I  merely  wish  to  take 
the  shortest  and  simplest  way  to  relieve  you  of  your 
more  pressing  anxieties,  and  so  enable  you  to  give  your- 
self unreservedly  to  your  work.  Want  may  be  a  whole- 
some spur  to  effort  at  times ;  but  it  is  difficult  to  sup- 
pose any  really  sane  and  well-proportioned  work  of  art 
can  be  produced  without  a  sense  of  security  and  of 
leisure." 

"  How  do  you  come  to  know  that?  It  is  not  your 
province,"  Smyth  said  sharply. 

Mr.  Iglesias  permitted  himself  to  smile  and  raise  his 
shoulders  slightly. 

"  I  come  of  a  race  which,  in  the  past,  has  given  evi- 
dence of  no  small  literary  and  artistic  ability.  The  ex- 
perience of  former  generations  affects  the  thought  of 
their  descendants,  I  imagine,  and  illuminates  it,  even  when 
these  are  not  gifted  individually  with  any  executive 
talent." 

For  some  minutes  Smyth  sat  staring  moodily  in  front 
of  him.  At  last  he  rose  slowly  from  his  chair. 

"  I  am  an  ass,"  he  said,  "  a  jealous,  suspicious,  ungrate- 
ful ass.  It  is  more  than  ever  hateful  to  me  to  ask  a 
favour  of  you,  just  because  you  are  forbearing  and  gen- 


132  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

erous.  I  wish  to  goodness  I  could  do  without  your  help; 
but  I  can't.  So  let  me  have  twenty-five  pounds.  Less 
would  not  be  of  use  to  me.  I  should  only  have  to  draw 
on  you  again,  and  I  do  not  care  to  do  that.  Look  here, 
can  I  have  it  in  notes  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Iglesias. 

"  I  prefer  it  so.  There  might  have  been  difficulties  in 
cashing  a  cheque.  Moreover,  it  is  unpleasant  to  me  that 
your  name,  that  any  name,  should  appear.  It  is  only 
fair  to  save  my  self-respect  as  far  as  you  can." 

Then,  as  Dominic  put  the  notes  into  his  hand,  he  added, 
and  his  voice  was  aggressive  again  and  quarrelsome  in 
tone :  "  I  don't  apologise.  I  don't  explain.  I  do  not 
even  thank  you.  Why  should  I,  since  I  simply  take  it 
as  a  temporary  accommodation  until  my  play  is  finished 
— my  great  play,  which  is  going — I  swear  before  God 
it  is  going — not  only  to  cancel  this  paltry  debt,  but  a 
far  more  important  one,  the  debt  I  owe  to  my<  own  genius, 
and  justify  me  once  and  forever  in  the  eyes  of  the  whole 
English-speaking  world." 

With  that  he  shambled  out  of  the  room,  letting  the 
handle  of  the  door  slip  so  that  it  banged  noisily  behind 
him. 

For  a  while  Dominic  Iglesias  remained  standing  before 
the  fireplace.  He  was  sad  at  heart.  He  had  given  gen- 
erously, lavishly,  out  of  proportion,  as  most  persons 
reckon  charitable  giving,  \o  his  means.  But,  though 
the  act  was  in  itself  good,  he  was  sensible  of  no  responsive 
warmth,  no  glow  of  satisfaction.  The  transaction  left 
him  cold;  left  him,  indeed,  a  prey  to  disgust.  Not  only 
were  the  man's  faults  evident,  but  they  were  of  so  un- 
pleasant a  nature  as  to  neutralise  all  gladness  in  reliev- 
ing his  distress.  Mechanically  Iglesias  straightened  the 
chair  which  his  guest  had  so  lately  occupied,  put  away 
tumbler  and  spirit  decanter,  pulled  up  the  blind  and 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  133 

opefied  one  of  the  tall  narrow  windows,  set  the  door  giv- 
ing access  to  his  bed-chamber  wide,  and  opened  a  window 
there,  too,  so  creating  a  draught  right  through  the  apart- 
ment from  end  to  end.  He  desired  to  clean  it  both  of 
a  physical  and  a  moral  atmosphere  which  were  displeasing 
to  him.  And,  in  so  doing,  he  let  in,  not  only  the  roar  of 
London,  borne  in  a  fierce  crescendo  on  the  breath  of  the 
wind,  but  a  strange  multitudinous  rustling  from  the  som- 
bre foliage  and  stiff  branches  of  the  lonely  cedar  tree. 
Two  limbs,  crossing,  sawed  upon  each  other  as  the  wind 
took  them,  uttering  at  intervals  a  long-drawn  complaint 
• — not  weakly,  but  rather  with  virility,  as  of  a  strong  man 
chained  and  groaning  against  his  fetters. 

The  sound  affected  Dominic  Iglesias  deeply,  begetting 
in  him  an  almost  hopeless  sense  of  isolation.  The  vapid 
talk  at  dinner,  poor  little  Mrs.  Porcher's  misplaced  ad- 
vances— the  fact  of  which  it  appeared  to  him  equally 
idle  to  deny  and  fatuous  to  admit  — the  dreary  scene  with 
his  unhappy  fellow-lodger,  the  good  deed  done  which  just 
now  appeared  fruitless — all  these  contributed  to  make 
the  complaint  of  the  exiled  cedar's  tormented  branches 
an  echo  of  the  complaint  of  his  own  heart.  For  a  long 
while  he  listened  to  these  voices  of  the  night,  the  great 
city,  the  great  tree,  the  wind  and  the  wet ;  and  listening, 
by  degrees  he  rallied  his  patience  in  that  he  humbled 
himself. 

"  After  all,  I  have  been  little  else  but  self-seeking," 
he  said,  half  aloud.  "  For  I  gave  not  to  the  man,  but 
to  myself.  I  clutched  at  a  personal  reward,  if  not  of 
spoken  gratitude  yet  of  subjective  content.  It  has  not 
come.  I  suppose  I  did  not  deserve  it." 

And  then,  somehow,  his  thoughts  turned  to  that  other 
human  creature  who,  though  in  a  very  different  fashion 
to  de  Courcy  Smyth  the  unsavoury,  had  claimed  his  help. 
He  thought  not  of  her  over-red  lips,  but  of  her  wise 


134  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

eyes;  not  of  her  Irrepressible  effervescence  and  patter, 
but  of  her  serious  moments  and  of  the  honesty  and 
courage  which  at  such  moments  appeared  to  animate  her. 
About  a  fortnight  ago  he  had  called  at  the  little  flower- 
bedecked  house  on  the  confines  of  Barnes  Common,  but 
had  obtained  no  response  to  his  ringing.  He  supposed 
she  was  engaged,  or  possibly  away.  With  a  certain  proud 
modesty  he  had  abstained  from  renewing  his  visit.  But 
now,  listening  to  the  roar  of  London  and  the  complaint 
of  the  cedar  tree,  he  turned  to  the  thought  of  her  as  to 
something  of  promise,  of  possible  comfort,  of  equal 
friendship,  in  which  there  should  be  not  only  help  given, 
but  help  received. 


CHAPTER    XIII 

DOMINIC  IGLESIAS  stood  on  Hammersmith  Bridge  looking 
upstream.  The  temperature  was  low  for  the  time  of 
year,  the  sky  packed  with  heavy-bosomed  indigo-grey 
clouds  in  the  south  and  west,  whence  came  a  gusty  wind 
chill  with  impending  rain.  The  light  was  diffused  and 
cold,  all  objects  having  a  certain  bareness  of  effect,  defi- 
cient in  shadow.  The  weather  had  broken  in  the  storm 
of  the  preceding  night;  and,  though  it  was  but  early 
September,  summer  was  gone,  autumn  and  the  melancholy 
of  it  already  present — witness  the  elms  in  Chiswick  Mall 
splotched  with  raw  umber  and  faded  yellow.  The  tide  had 
still  about  an  hour  to  flow.  The  river  was  dull  and  leaden, 
save  where,  near  Chiswick  Eyot,  the  wind  meeting  the  tide 
lashed  the  surface  of  it  into  mimic  waves,  the  crests  of 
which,  flung  upward,  showed  against  the  gloomy  stretch 
of  water  beyond,  like  pale  hands  raised  heavenward  in 
despairing  protest.  Steam-tugs,  taking  advantage  of  the 
tide,  laboured  up-stream  in  the  teeth  of  the  wind,  towing 
processions  of  dark  floats  and  barges.  Long  banners  of 
smoke,  ragged  and  fleeting,  swept  wildly  away  from  the 
mouths  of  the  tall  chimneys  of  Thorneycroft's  Works, 
which  rose  black  into  the  low,  wet  sky.  The  roadway  of 
the  huge  suspension  bridge  quivered  under  the  grind  of 
the  ceaseless  traffic,  while  the  wind  cried  in  the  massive 
pea-green  painted  iron-gearing  above.  There  was  a  sense 
of  hardly  restrained  tumult,  of  conflict  between  nature 
and  the  multiple  machinery  of  modern  civilisation,  the 
two  in  opposition,  alike  victims  of  an  angry  mood.  And 
Iglesias  stood  watching  that  conflict  among  the  crowd  of 
children,  and  loafers,  and  decrepit,  who  to-day — as  every 
day — thronged  the  foot-way  of  the  bridge. 

135 


136  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

Poppy  St.  John  stood  on  the  foot-way,  too.  She  had 
crossed  from  the  southern  side.  But,  though  by  no  means 
insensible  to  the  spirit  or  the  details  of  the  scene  around 
her,  she  was  less  engaged  in  watching  the  drama  of  the 
stormy  afternoon  than  in  watching  Dominic  Iglesias — 
as  yet  unconscious  of  her  presence.  His  tall,  spare, 
shapely  figure,  grave,  clean-shaven  face,  and  calm,  self- 
recollected  manner — which  removed  him  so  singularly 
from  the  purposeless  neutral-tinted  human  beings  close 
about  him — delighted  her  artistic  sense. 

"  If  one  had  caught  him  young,"  she  said  to  herself, 
"  if  one  had  only  caught  him  young,  heavenly  powers, 
what  a  time  one  might  have  had,  and  yet  stayed  good — 
oh !  very  quite  good  indeed !  " 

Then  she  made  her  way  between  much  undeveloped  and 
derelict  humanity. 

"  Look  at  me,  dear  man,"  she  said,  "  look  at  me — • 
really  I  am  worth  it.  I  got  home  late  last  night  and  I 
was  possessed  by  a  great  longing  to  see  you. — Excuse  my 
shouting,  but  things  in  general  are  making  such  an  infer- 
nal clatter. — I  was  determined  to  see  you.  I  set  my  whole 
mind  to  making  you  come.  And  I  felt  so  sure  you  must 
come  that  this  afternoon  I  have  journeyed  thus  far  to 
meet  you.  And  here  you  are,  and  here  I  am." 

Poppy  stood  before  him  bracing  her  back  against  the 
hand-rail  of  the  bridge. 

"  Tell  me,  are  you  glad?  "  she  said. 

And  Dominic  Iglesias,  surprised,  yet  finding  the  inci- 
dent curiously  natural,  answered  simply:- 

"  Yes,  I  am,  very  glad." 

"That's  all  right,"  she  rejoined;  "because,  after  all, 
coming  was  a  pretty  lively  act  of  faith  on  my  part.  I 
have  superstitious  turns  at  times;  and  the  weather,  and 
things  that  had  happened,  had  made  me  feel  pretty  cheap 
somehow.  I  don't  mind  telling  you  as  you  are  here  that 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  137 

if  y6u'd  failed  me  there  would  have  been  the  devil  to  pay. 
I  should  have  been  awfully  cut  up." 

Iglesias  still  smiled  upon  her.  Poppy  presented  her- 
self under  a  new  aspect  to-day,  and  that  aspect  found 
favour  in  his  sight.  She  was  no  longer  the  Lady  of  the 
Windswept  Dust,  arrayed  in  fantastic  flowery  hat  and 
trailing  skirts,  but  was  clothed  in  trim  black  workman- 
like garments,  which  revealed  the  delicate  contours  of  her 
figure  and  gave  her  an  unexpected  air  of  distinction.  Yet, 
though  charmed,  the  caution  of  pride — which,  in  his  case, 
was  also  the  caution  of  modesty — made  him  a  trifle  shy 
in  addressing  her.  He  paused  before  speaking,  and  then 
said,  with  a  certain  hesitancy: 

"  I  fancy  my  attitude  of  mind  last  night  was  the  com- 
plement of  your  own.  I,  too,  had  fallen  on  rather  evil 
days.  I  wanted  to  see  you.  I  came  out  this  afternoon 
to  find  you.  If  I  had  failed  to  do  so,  it  would  have  gone 
a  little  hard  with  me,  too,  I  think." 

Poppy  looked  at  him  questioningly,  intently,  for  a 
minute,  her  teeth  set.  Then  she  whirled  round,  leaned  her 
elbows  on  the  hand-rail,  pulled  her  handkerchief  out  of 
the  breast  pocket  of  her  smartly  fitting  coat  and  dabbed 
her  eyes  with  it,  finely  indifferent  to  possible  comment  or 
observation. 

Iglesias  remained  immediately  behind  her,  but  a  little 
to  the  right,  so  as  to  save  her  from  being  jostled  by  the 
passers-by.  He  had  a  sense  of  being  only  the  more  alone 
with  her  because  of  the  traffic  and  the  crowd;  a  sense, 
moreover,  of  dependence  on  her  part  and  protection  on 
his ;  a  sense,  in  a  way,  of  her  belonging  to  him  and  he  to 
her.  And  this  was  very  sweet  to  him,  solemnly  sweet,  as 
are  all  things  of  beauty  and  moment  holding  in  them 
the  promise  of  enduring  result.  Old  Age  ceased  to 
threaten  and  Loneliness  to  haunt.  Over  Iglesias'  soul 
passed  a  wave  of  thankful  content. 


Suddenly  Poppy  straightened  herself  up  and  faced 
him.  Her  lips  laughed,  but  her  eyes  were  wet. 

"  I'll  play  fair,"  she  said ;  "  by  the  honour  of  the 
mother  that  bore  you,  I'll  play  fair." 

Then  she  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm  and  pointed  London- 
wards. 

"  Now,  come  along,  dear  man,  for  I  have  got  to  pull 
myself  together  somehow.  Let  us  walk.  Take  me  some- 
where I've  never  been  before,  somewhere  quiet — only  let 
MS  walk." 

Therefore,  desiring  to  meet  her  wishes,  a  little  way 
up  the  broad  straggling  street  Dominic  Iglesias  turned 
off  to  the  left  into  the  narrow  old-world  lanes  and  alleys 
which  lie  between  the  river  frontage  and  King  Street 
West.  The  district  is  a  singular  one,  suggestive  of  some 
sleepy  little  dead-alive  seaport  town  rather  than  of  Lon- 
don. Quaint  water-ways,  crossed  by  foot-bridges,  burrow 
in  between  small  low  cottages  and  warehouses.  Some  of 
these  have  overhanging  upper  stories  to  them,  are  half- 
timbered  or  yellow-washed.  Some  are  built  wholly  of 
wood.  There  is  an  all-pervading  odour  of  tar  and 
hempen  rope.  Small  industries  abound,  though  without 
any  self-advertisement  of  plate-glass  shop  fronts.  Chim- 
ney-sweeps and  cobblers  give  notice  of  their  presence  by 
swinging  signs.  Newsvenders  make  irruption  of  flaring 
boards  upon  the  pavement.  Little  ground-floor  windows 
exhibit  attenuated  stores  of  tinware,  string,  and  sweets. 
Modest  tobacconists  mount  the  image  of  a  black  boy 
scantily  clothed  or  of  a  Highlander  in  the  fullest  of  tar- 
tans above  their  doors.  Cats  prowl  along  walls  and 
sparrows  rise  in  flights  from  off  the  ill-paved  roadways. 
But  of  human  occupants  there  appear  to  be  but  few,  and 
those  with  an  unusual  stamp  of  individuality  upon  them; 
figures  a  trifle  strange  and  obsolete — as  of  persons  by 
choice  hidden  away,  voluntarily  self-removed  from  the 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  139 

levelling  rush  and  grind  of  the  monster  city.  The  small 
heavy-browed  houses  are  very  secretive,  seeming  to  shel- 
ter fallen  fortunes,  obscure  and  furtive  sins,  sorrows  which 
resist  alleviation  and  inquiry.  Seen,  as  to-day,  under  the 
low-hanging  sky  big  with  rain,  in  the  diffused  afternoon 
light,  the  place  and  its  inhabitants  conveyed  an  impression 
low-toned,  yet  distinct,  finished  in  detail,  rich  though 
mournful  in  effect  as  some  eighteenth-century  Dutch  pic- 
ture. A  linnet  twittered,  flitting  from  perch  to  perch  of 
its  cage  at  an  open  window.  A  boy,  clad  in  an  old  mouse- 
brown  corduroy  coat,  passed  slowly,  crying  "  Sweet 
lavender  "  shrilly  yet  in  a  plaintive  cadence.  Occasionally 
the  siren  of  a  steam-tug  tore  the  air  with  a  long-drawn 
wavering  scream.  Otherwise  all  was  very  silent. 

And,  as  they  threaded  their  way  through  the  maze  of 
crooked  streets,  Dominic  Iglesias  and  Poppy  St.  John 
were  silent  also;  but  with  the  silence  of  intimacy  and 
good  faith,  rather  than  with  that  of  embarrassment  or 
indifference.  Each  was  very  fully  aware  of  the  presence 
of  the  other.  So  fully  aware,  indeed,  that,  for  the 
moment,  speech  seemed  superfluous  as  a  vehicle  for  inter- 
change of  thought.  Then,  as  they  emerged  on  to  the 
open  gravelled  space  of  the  Upper  Mall  with  its  low  red- 
brick wall  and  stately  elm  trees,  Poppy  held  out  her  hand 
to  Mr.  Iglesias. 

"  You  are  beautifully  clever,"  she  said.  "  You  give 
me  just  what  I  wanted.  I'm  as  steady  as  old  Time  now. 
But  what  a  queer  rabbit-warren  of  a  place  it  is!  How 
did  you  find  your  way?  " 

"  I  came  here  often,  in  the  past,"  he  said,  "  at  a  time 
when  I  was  suffering  grave  anxiety.  I  could  not  leave 
home,  after  my  office  work  was  over,  for  more  than  an 
hour  together.  And  in  the  dusk  or  at  night,  with  its 
twinkling  and  evasive  lights,  the  place  used  to  please  me, 
leading  as  it  does  to  the  river  bank,  the  mystery  of  the 


140  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

ebbing  and  flowing  tide,  the  ceaseless  effort  seaward  of 
the  stream,  and  those  low-lying  spaces  on  the  Surrey  side. 
It  was  the  nearest  bit  of  nature,  unharnessed,  irresponsi- 
ble nature,  which  I  could  get  to ;  and  it  symbolised  emanci- 
pation from  monotonous  labour  and  everlasting  bricks 
and  mortar.  I  could  watch  the  dying  of  the  sunset,  and 
the  outcoming  of  the  stars,  the  tossing  of  the  pale  willows 
— there  on  the  eyot — in  the  windy  dusk,  undisturbed. 
And  so  I  have  come  to  entertain  a  great  fondness  for  it, 
since  it  tranquillised  me  and  helped  me  to  see  life  calmly 
and  to  bring  myself  in  line  with  fact,  to  endure  and  to 
forgive." 

While  he  spoke  Poppy's  hand  continued  to  rest  pas- 
sively in  his. 

"  You  are  a  poet,"  she  said,  "  and  you  are  very  good." 

Dominic  Iglesias  smiled  and  shook  his  head. 

"  No,"  he  answered.  "  I  am  neither  a  poet  nor  am 
I  very  good.  Far  from  that.  I  only  tried  to  keep  faith 
with  the  one  clear  duty  which  I  saw." 

Poppy  moved  forward  across  the  Mall  and  stood  by 
the  river  wall,  looking  out  over  the  flowing  tide.  It  was 
high  now,  and  washed  and  gurgled  against  the  masonry. 

"  You  did  and  suffered  all  that  for  some  woman,"  she 
said.  "  A  man  like  you  always  breaks  himself  for  some 
woman.  I  hope  she  was  worth  it — often  they  aren't. 
Who  was  she?  The  woman  you  loved?  Your  wife?" 

"  The  woman  I  loved,"  Iglesias  answered,  "  but  not 
my  wife." 

Poppy  looked  at  him  sharply,  her  eyes  full  of  question 
and  of  fear,  as  though  she  dreaded  to  hear  very  evil 
tidings. 

"  Not  your  mistress?  "  she  said.  "  Don't  tell  me  that. 
The  Lord  knows  I've  no  right  to  mind.  But  I  should 
mind.  It  would  be  like  switching  off  all  the  lights.  I 
couldn't  stand  it.  So,  if  it's  that,  just  let  us  part  com- 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  141 

pany  at  once.  I've  no  more  use  for  you. — I  know  where 
I  am  now.  If  I  go  up  into  St.  Peter's  Square  I  can 
pick  up  a  hansom  and  drive  back  home — I  suppose  I 
may  as  well  call  it  home,  as  I  have  no  other.  And  as 
for  you,  if  you've  any  mercy  in  you,  never  let  me  see  you 
again.  Never  come  near  me.  I  have  no  use  for  you,  I 
tell  you.  So  leave  me  to  my  own  devices — what  those 
devices  are  is  no  earthly  concern  of  yours." 

She  paused  breathless,  her  eyes  blazing,  her  face  very 
white.  She  seemed  to  have  grown  tall,  and  there  was  a 
tremendous  force  in  her  of  bitterness,  repudiation,  and 
regret. 

"  After  all,"  she  cried,  "  I  don't  so  much  as  know  your 
name;  and  so,  thank  heaven,  it  can't  be  so  very  difficult 
to  forget  you." 

Her  aspect  moved  Iglesias  strangely,  seeming  as  it  did 
to  embody  the  very  spirit  of  the  angry  sky,  of  the  gloomy 
river,  all  the  sorrow  of  the  dead  summer  and  stormy 
autumn  light.  For  a  moment  he  watched  her  in  silence. 
Then  he  took  both  her  hands  in  his  and  held  them,  smiling 
at  her  again  very  gently. 

"  No,  dear  friend,"  he  said,  "  the  woman  was  not  my 
mistress.  She  was  my  mother."  His  voice  shook  a  little. 
"  I  never  talk  of  her.  But  I  think  of  her  always.  She 
was  very  perfect  and  very  lovely.  And  she  suffered 
greatly,  so  greatly  that  it  unhinged  her  reason.  Now  do 
you  understand?  For  years  she  was  mad." 


CHAPTER    XIV 

IN  the  month  of  October  immediately  following  two 
events  took  place  which,  though  of  apparently  very  differ- 
ent magnitude  and  importance,  intimately  and  almost 
equally — as  it  proved  in  the  sequel — affected  Dominic 
Iglesias'  life.  The  first  was  the  declaration  of  war  by 
the  South  African  Republics.  The  second  was  the  return 
of  Miss  Serena  Lovegrove  to  town. 

Now  war  is,  unquestionably,  not  a  little  staggering  to 
the  modern  civilised  conscience;  and  this  particular  war 
possessed  the  additional  unpleasantness  of  having  in  it, 
at  first  sight,  an  element  of  the  grotesque.  It  is  not  too 
much  to  say  that  it  struck  the  majority  of  the  British 
public  as  being  of  the  nature  of  a  very  bad  joke.  For 
it  was  as  though  a  very  small  and  very  cheeky  boy,  after 
making  offensive  signs,  had  spat  in  the  nation's  face. 
Clearly  the  boy  deserved  sharp  chastisement  for  his  im- 
pudence. Nevertheless,  the  position  remained  an  undigni- 
fied and  slightly  ridiculous  one;  and  the  British  public 
proceeded  to  safeguard  its  proper  pride  by  treating  the 
matter  as  lightly  as  possible.  It  assured  itself — and 
others — that,  given  a  reasonable  parade  of  strength,  the 
small  boy,  blubbering,  his  fists  in  his  eyes,  would  speedily 
and  humbly  beg  pardon  and  promise  to  mind  his  manners 
in  future.  A  few  persons,  it  is  true,  remembered  Majuba 
Hill,  and  doubted  the  small  boy's  immediate  reduction 
to  obedience.  A  few  others  dared  to  suspect  that  English 
society  was  suffering  from  wealth  apoplexy  and  the  many 
unlovely  symptoms  which,  in  all  ages  of  history,  have 
accompanied  that  form  of  seizure,  and  to  doubt  whether 
blood-letting  might  not  prove  salutary.  Dominic  Igle- 
eias  was  among  these.  His  recent  observations  upon 

142 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  14$ 

and/ excursions  into  the  world  of  fashion,  stray  words  let 
drop  by  Poppy  St.  John  on  the  one  hand,  and  by  unhappy 
de  Courcy  Smyth  on  the  other,  had  begotten  in  him  the 
suspicion  that  the  sobering  and  sorrowful  influences  of 
war  might  be  healthful  for  the  body  politic,  just  as  a 
surgical  operation  may  be  healthful  for  the  individual 
body.  Next  to  the  Jew,  the  Dutchman  is  the  most  stub- 
bornly tenacious  of  human  creatures.  He  is  a  fighting 
man  into  the  bargain.  Iglesias  could  not  flatter  himself 
that  the  campaign  would  result  in  an  easy  walk-over  for 
so  much  of  the  British  army  as  a  supine  and  annoyed 
Government  condescended  to  place  in  the  field.  The  whole 
affair  lay  heavy  on  his  soul.  It  lay  there  all  the  heavier 
that  a  few  days  subsequent  to  the  declaration  of  war  Mr. 
Iglesias'  thought  was  unexpectedly  swept  back  into  the 
arena  of  speculative  finance. 

In  the  portion  of  his  morning  paper  allotted  to  busi- 
ness subjects,  he  had  lighted  on  a  long  and  evidently 
inspired  article  dealing  with  the  flotation  of  a  company 
just  now  in  process  of  acquiring  control  over  extensive 
areas  in  Southeast  Africa.  The  prospects  held  out  to 
investors  were  of  the  most  golden  sort.  The  land  was 
declared  to  be  not  only  remarkably  rich  in  precious  stones 
and  precious  metals,  but  also  adapted  for  corn-growing 
on  a  vast  scale — thus,  both  above  and  below  the  surface, 
promising  prodigious  wealth  were  its  resources  adequately 
developed. 

Iglesias  did  not  dispute  the  truth  of  these  state- 
ments. The  data  quoted  appeared  trustworthy  enough. 
Moreover,  he  was  already  fairly  conversant  with  the 
enterprise,  since  Mr.  Reginald  Barking — that  junior 
member  of  the  great  banking  firm  whose  name  has  been 
mentioned  in  connection  with  strenuous  modern  business 
methods — was,  to  his  knowledge,  deeply  interested  in  the 
promotion  of  it.  That  which  troubled  him,  striking  him 


144  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

as  unsound  and  misleading,  was  the  fact  that  the  profits, 
as  set  forth  in  the  newspaper  article,  were  calculated — so 
at  least  it  was  evident  to  Iglesias — on  the  results  of  such 
development  when  completed,  irrespective  of  the  lapse  of 
time  required  for  such  development;  irrespective  of  pos- 
sible and  arresting  accident;  irrespective,  too,  of  immedi- 
ate and  even  protracted  loss  by  the  tying-up  of  huge  sums 
of  money  which  could  yield  but  little  or  no  return  until 
the  said  process  of  development  was  an  accomplished  fact. 
To  Iglesias'  clear-seeing  and  logical  mind  the  enterprise, 
therefore,  presented  itself  as  one  of  those  gigantic  modern 
gambles  of  which  the  incidental  risks  are  emphatically  too 
heavy,  since  they  more  often  than  not  make  rich  men 
poor,  and  poor  men  paupers,  before  they  come  through — 
if,  indeed,  they  even  come  through  at  all. 

Reginald,  in  virtue  of  his  youth,  his  energy,  and  relent- 
less concentration  of  purpose,  had  rapidly  become  the 
ruling  spirit  of  the  house  of  Barking  Brothers  &  Barking. 
Iglesias  had  no  cause  to  love  him,  since  to  him  he  owed 
his  dismissal.  But  that  fact  failed  to  colour  his  present 
meditations.  Under  the  influence  of  his  cherished  and 
new-found  charity,  Dominic  had  little  time  or  inclination 
for  personal  resentment.  Too,  the  habits  of  the  best  part 
of  a  lifetime  cannot  be  thrown  aside  in  a  day.  Directly  he 
touched  business  on  the  large  scale,  it  became  to  him 
serious  and  imposing.  And  so  the  future  of  the  firm  and 
the  issue  of  its  operations,  in  face  of  current  events,  con- 
cerned him  deeply,  all  the  more  that  he  gauged  Reginald 
Barking's  temper  of  mind  and  proclivities. 

The  young  man's  father — now  happily  deceased — had 
offered  an  instructive  example  of  social  and  religious 
survival — survival,  to  be  explicit,  of  the  once  famous  Clap- 
ham  Sect,  and  that  in  its  least  agreeable  aspect.  His 
theology  was  that  of  obstinately  narrow  misinterpreta- 
tion of  the  Scriptures;  his  piety  that  of  self -invented 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  145 

obligations ;  his  virtue  that  of  unsparing  condemnation  of 
the  sins  of  others.  His  domestic  morality  was  Hebraic — 
death  kindly  playing  into  his  hands  in  regard  of  it.  He 
married  four  times — Reginald,  the  only  child  of  his 
fourth  marriage,  having  the  further  privilege  of  being 
his  only  son.  The  boy  was  delicate  and  of  a  strumous 
habit.  This  fact,  combined  with  his  parents'  ingrained 
conviction  that  a  public  school  is  synonymous,  morally 
speaking,  with  a  common  sewer,  caused  his  education  to 
be  conducted  at  home  by  a  series  of  tutors  as  undistin- 
guished by  birth  as  by  scholarship — tentative  apologetic 
young  men,  the  goal  of  whose  ambitions  was  a  wife  and 
a  curacy,  failing  which  they  resigned  themselves  to  the 
post  of  usher  in  some  ultra-Protestant  school.  Sport  in 
all  its  forms,  art  and  literature,  being  alike  forbidden,  the 
boy's  hungry  energy  had  found  no  reasonable  outlet.  He 
had  been  miserable,  peevish,  ailing,  until  at  barely 
eighteen — after  a  discreditable  episode  with  a  scullery- 
maid — he  had  been  shipped  off  to  New  York  to  learn 
business  in  the  house  of  certain  brokers  and  bill-discount- 
ers with  whom  Messrs.  Barking  Brothers  had  extensive 
financial  relations.  Life  in  the  land  of  the  Puritans  was 
not,  even  at  that  time  of  day,  inevitably  immaculate. 
Freedom  from  parental  supervision  and  the  American 
climate  went  to  the  lad's  head.  He  passed  through  a 
phase  of  commonplace  but  secret  vice,  emerging  there- 
from with  an  unblemished  social  reputation;  a  blank 
scepticism  in  matters  religious,  combined  with  bitter 
animosity  against  the  Deity,  whom  he  declared  non-exist- 
ent; and  a  fiercely  driving  ambition,  not  so  much  for 
wealth  in  itself,  as  for  that  control  over  the  destinies  of 
men,  and  even  of  nations,  with  which  wealth  under  modern 
conditions  endows  its  possessor.  He  was  a  pale,  dry, 
lizard-like  young  man,  suggesting  light  without  heat, 
and  excitement  without  emotion.  Early  in  his  career  he 


146  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

recognised  that  the  great  sources  of  wealth  and  power 
lie  with  the  younger  countries,  in  the  development  of  their 
natural  and  industrial  resources,  of  their  railways  and 
other  forms  of  transport.  The  phenomenal  advance  of 
America,  for  example,  was  due  to  her  enormous  territory 
and  the  opportunities  of  expansion,  within  the  bounds  of 
nationality,  which  this  afforded  her  people.  But  he  also 
recognised  that  America  was  essentially  for  the  Ameri- 
cans, and  that  it  was  useless  for  an  outsider,  however 
skilful,  however  even  unscrupulous,  to  pit  his  business 
capacity  against  that  of  the  native  born.  His  dreams 
of  power  and  speculative  activity  directed  themselves, 
consequently,  to  the  British  Colonies,  and  to  those  as  yet 
unappropriated  spaces  of  the  earth's  surface  where  British 
influence  is  still  only  tentatively  present. 

Meanwhile  he  had  espoused  Miss  Nancy  Van  Reenan, 
daughter  of  a  famous  transatlantic  merchant  prince,  first 
cousin,  it  may  be  added,  to  the  beautiful  Virginia  Van 
Reenan  whose  marriage  with  Lawrence  Rivers,  of  Stoke 
Rivers  in  the  county  of  Sussex,  so  fluttered  the  smartest 
section  of  New  York  society  a  few  years  ago.  He  re- 
turned to  England  in  the  spring  of  1897,  convinced  that 
America  had  taught  him,  commercially  speaking,  all  there 
was  to  know.  This  knowledge  he  prepared  to  apply  to 
waking  up  the  venerable  establishment  in  Threadneedle 
Street,  while  employing  the  unimpeachable  respectability 
and  solvency  of  the  said  establishment  as  a  lever  towards 
the  realisation  of  his  own  far-reaching  ambitions.  He 
brought  with  him  from  the  United  States,  in  addition  to 
his  elegant  wife,  two  dry,  pale  children,  whose  contours 
were  less  Raphaelesque  than  gnat-like,  and  the  acuteness 
of  whose  critical  faculty  was  very  much  more  in  evidence 
than  that  of  their  affections.  These  bright  little  results 
of  modernity  and  applied  science — in  the  shape  of  the 
incubator — took  their  place  in  the  social  movement,  at 


147 

the  ages  of  three  and  five  respectively,  with  the  hard  and 
chilling  assurance  of  a  world-weary  man  and  woman. 
They  never  exhibited  surprise.  They  rarely  exhibited 
amusement.  They  were  radically  disillusioned.  They 
frequently  referred  to  their  nerves  and  their  digestions, 
in  the  interests  of  which  they  consistently  repudiated 
every  form  of  excess. 

With  these  rather  terrible  little  gentry  Dominic  Iglesias 
was,  happily  for  himself,  unacquainted;  but  with  their 
father  he  was  very  well  acquainted,  as  has  already  been 
stated.  Hence  his  fears.  Folding  his  newspaper  to- 
gether, he  laid  it  on  the  table  and  proceeded  to  walk 
meditatively  up  and  down  his  sitting-room.  The  morning 
was  keen  with  sunshine,  the  leaves  of  the  planes  and 
balsam-poplars  fell  in  brown  and  yellow  showers  upon 
the  Green,  on  the  further  side  of  which  the  details  of  the 
red  and  yellowish  grey  houses  stood  out  in  high  relief  of 
sharp-edged  light  and  shadow.  Mr.  Iglesias  had  risen  in 
a  hopeful  frame  of  mind.  Of  late  it  had  become  his 
habit  to  call  weekly  on  Poppy  St.  John.  To-day  was  the 
one  appointed  for  his  visit.  Since  he  had  spoken  to  her 
about  his  mother  his  friendship  with  Poppy  St.  John  had 
entered  upon  a  new  phase.  It  was  no  longer  experi- 
mental, but  absolute,  the  more  so  that  she  had  in  no  way 
presumed  upon  his  confidence.  He  felt  very  safe  with 
her — safe  to  tell  or  safe  to  withhold  as  inclination  should 
move  him.  And  in  this  there  was  a  strange  and  delicate 
lessening  of  the  burden  of  his  loneliness,  without  any 
encroachment  on  his  pride.  He  had  found,  moreover,  that 
behind  her  patter  lay  an  unexpected  acquaintance  with 
public  affairs  and  the  tendencies  of  current  events,  so  that 
it  was  possible  to  talk  on  subjects  other  than  personal 
with  her.  He  was  coming  to  have  much  faith  in  her  judg- 
ment as  well  as  in  her  sincerity  of  heart.  And,  so,  with 
the  prospect  of  seeing  her  before  him,  Dominic  had  risen 


148  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

in  the  happiest  disposition,  had  so  remained  till  the  news- 
paper article  disturbed  his  mind.  For  what,  as  he  asked 
himself,  did  it  portend,  this  extravagant  puff  of  the 
company's  land  and  the  company's  prospects,  at  this  par- 
ticular juncture?  Why  was  it  so  urgently  and  eloquently 
forced  upon  the  market  just  now?  Was  it  but  another 
proof  of  the  contemptuous  attitude  adopted  by  English- 
men of  all  classes  towards  the  Boer  Republics?  Or  did 
it  take  its  origin  very  much  elsewhere — namely,  in  the 
fact  that  Reginald  Barking  had  so  deeply  involved  the 
capital  and  pledged  the  credit  of  the  firm  that  it  became 
necessary  to  make  violent  and  doubtfully  honest  bid  for 
popular  support  before  the  position  of  the  said  firm, 
through  difficulty  and  accident  induced  by  war,  became 
desperate  ? 

This  last  solution  of  the  perplexing  question  aroused 
all  Mr.  Iglesias'  loyalty  towards  his  old  employers.  He 
saw  before  them  the  ugly  possibility  of  failure  and  dis- 
grace. The  mere  phantom  of  the  thing  hurt  him  as 
unseemly,  as  a  shame  and  dishonour  to  those  who  in  their 
corporate  capacity  had  benefited  him,  and  therefore  as 
a  shame  and  dishonour,  at  least  indirectly,  to  himself. 
The  thought  agitated  him.  He  needed  to  take  counsel 
with  someone;  and  so,  pushed  by  a  necessity  of  immediate 
action  uncommon  to  him,  he  laid  hands  on  hat  and  coat 
and  set  forth  to  talk  matters  over  with  his  old  friend 
and  former  colleague,  George  Lovegrove. 

Out  of  doors  the  air  was  stimulating.  The  voice  of 
London  had  a  tone  of  urgency  in  it,  as  the  voice  of  the 
young  and  strong  who  court  the  coming  of  stirring  events. 

'  The  moods  of  the  monstrous  mother  are  inexhaust- 
ible," Iglesias  said  to  himself.  "  She  is  changeful  as  the 
great  ocean.  To-day  she  is  virile,  and  shouts  for  battle — 
well,  it  may  be  she  will  get  her  fill  of  that  before  many 
months  are  out !  " 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  149 

Then  the  thought  of  his  afternoon  visit  returned  upon 
him.  If  the  air  would  remain  as  exhilarating,  the  sun- 
shine as  daring  as  now,  these  would  heighten  enjoy- 
ment. 

Mr.  Iglesias  smiled  to  himself,  an  emotion  of  tenderness 
mingling  with  his  anxiety.  He  felt  very  much  alive,  very 
ready  to  meet  any  demand  which  the  future  might  make 
on  him — battle  for  him,  too,  perhaps,  and  at  this  moment 
he '  welcomed  the  thought  of  it !  Thus,  a  little  exalted 
in  spirit,  Dominic  walked  on  rapidly  across  the  Green 
between  the  iron  railings,  conscious  of  colour,  of  light,  and 
of  sound;  but  unobservant  of  the  details  of  his  immediate 
surroundings,  until  a  drifting  female  figure  barred  his 
path,  undulating  uncertainly  before  him.  He  moved  to 
the  right  to  let  it  pass.  It  moved  to  the  right  also.  He 
moved  to  the  left,  it  did  so,  too. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said. 

"  Oh !  "  cried  Serena  Lovegrove. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  Iglesias  repeated,  raising  his 
hat.  "  Excuse  me,  I  did  not  see  who  it  was." 

"  How  very  odd ! "  Serena  remarked.  She  stood  still 
in  the  middle  of  the  path.  Her  eyes  snapped.  Her  silk 
petticoat  rustled.  Serena  was  very  particular  about  her 
petticoats.  It  gave  her  great  moral  and  social  support 
to  hear  them  rustle.  "  How  very  odd !  "  she  said  again. 
"  Did  you  not  know  that  I  had  come  back?  " 

Dominic  might  truthfully  have  replied  that  he  did  not 
know  that  she  had  ever  gone  away;  but  he  abstained. 

"  It  must  be  a  great  pleasure  to  your  cousins  to  have 
you  with  them,"  he  said  courteously. 

Serena  looked  at  the  falling  leaves. 

"  I  wonder  whether  it  is — I  mean  I  wonder  whether  it 
is  a  pleasure  to  them,  or  whether  they  ask  me  out  of  a 
sense  of  duty."  She  paused,  gazing  at  Mr.  Iglesias.  "  Of 
course,  I  know  George  has  a  strong  regard  for  me,  and 


150  THE    FAR     HORIZON 

for  Susan.  It  is  only  natural,  as  we  are  first  cousins.  But 
I  am  not  sure  about  Rhoda.  Of  course  we  never  heard  of 
Rhoda  until  she  married  George." 

"  She  has  made  him  an  excellent  wife,"  Iglesias  put  in. 

"  I  suppose  she  has,"  Serena  said  reflectively.  "  But 
I  sometimes  wonder  whether,  if  George  had  married  some- 
body else,  it  might  not  have  been  more  satisfactory  in 
some  ways." 

Serena  felt  very  proud  in  making  this  remark.  It 
elicited  no  reply,  however,  from  Mr.  Iglesias. 

"  I  wonder  if  he  really  sees  that  Rhoda  is  on  a  different 
level  from  us,  and  won't  admit  it;  or  whether  he  doesn't 
see.  If  he  doesn't  see,  of  course  that  means  a  good 
deal." 

"  Do  you  usually  go  out  walking  in  the  morning?  " 
Dominic  inquired.  The  silence  was  becoming  protracted. 
Courtesy  demanded  that  he  should  break  it. 

Serena  looked  at  him  with  heightened  intelligence. 

"  We  were  always  brought  up  to  take  a  walk  twice  a 
day.  Mamma  was  very  particular  about  it.  She  believed 
that  health  had  so  much  to  do  with  regular  exercise. 
Sometimes  I  wonder  whether  she  did  not  carry  that  too 
far.  But,  of  course,  Susan  is  very  strong,  much  stronger 
than  I  am.  I  believe  she  would  have  been  strong  in  any 
case,  even  if  mamma  had  not  insisted  on  our  taking  so 
much  exercise."  Serena  paused.  "  But  I  did  not  know 
you  went  out  in  the  morning.  That  is,  I  mean  I  have 
never  seen  you  go  out  before." 

"  Indeed,"  Iglesias  exclaimed,  a  little  startled  at  the 
close  observation  of  his  habits  implied  by  this  remark. 

"  No,"  she  said ;  "  of  course  one  can  see  Cedar  Lodge 
very  plainly  from  George's  house,  and  I  often  look  out 
of  window.  I  think  it  among  the  pleasures  of  London 
to  look  out  of  window.  I  have  never  seen  you  go  out  in 
the  morning  before."  Again  she  paused,  adding  reflec- 


THE    EAR    HORIZON  151 

.jf 

tively :  "  It  really  seems  rather  odd  that  neither  George 
nor  Rhoda  should  have  told  you  that  I  had  come  back." 

To  this  remark  no  suitable  answer  suggested  itself. 
Moreover,  Mr.  Iglesias  was  growing  slightly  impatient. 
He  wished  she  would  see  fit  to  move  aside  and  let  him 
pass. 

"  ,Y°U  will  get  cold  standing  here,"  he  said.  "  You 
must  not  let  me  detain  you  any  longer." 

Serena's  eyes  snapped.  She  was  excited.  She  was  also 
slightly  offended.  "  He  is  very  abrupt,"  she  said  to 
herself;  but  she  did  not  move  aside  and  let  him  pass. 
"Yes,  he  is  abrupt,"  she  repeated ;  "  still,  he  has  a  very 
good  manner.  If  one  didn't  know  that  he  had  been  a 
bank  clerk,  I  wonder  if  one  would  detect  it.  I  don't  think 
it  would  be  a  thing  that  need  be  mentioned,  for  instance, 
at  Slowby.  Only  Susan  would  be  sure  to  make  a  point 
of  mentioning  it.  Susan  has  an  idea  she  owes  it  to 
herself  to  be  truthful.  Of  course,  it  would  be  wrong  to 
deny  that  anyone  had  been  a  bank  clerk;  but  that  is 
different  from  telling  everybody.  I  wonder  if  Susan 
would  feel  obliged  to  tell  everybody." 

When  she  reached  the  near  side  of  the  Green,  Serena 
looked  back.  Mr.  Iglesias  was  in  the  act  of  entering  the 
Lovegroves'  front  door,  which  the  worthy  George  held 
open  for  him.  Serena  stood  transfixed. 

"  So  he  was  going  there !  "  she  said  to  herself.  "  How 
extraordinary  not  to  mention  it  to  me.  What  could  have 
been  his  object  in  not  mentioning  it?  I  wonder  if  he  has 
only  gone  to  see  George,  or  to  see  Rhoda  as  well.  If  he 
has  gone  to  see  Rhoda,  then  I  think  he  has  been  exceed- 
ingly rude  to  me.  And  he  has  been  very  short-sighted, 
too,  if  he  didn't  want  me  to  know,  for  he  might  have  taken 
it  for  granted  that  of  course  I  should  look  back.  Unless 
he  did  do  it  on  purpose,  meaning  to  be  rude.  But " 

Serena  resumed  her  walk.     She  was  very  much  excited. 


152  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

"  Of  course  he  may  have  done  it  on  purpose  that  I 
should  see,  and  understand  that  he  meant  something 
special — that  he  was  going  to  speak  to  George  and 
Rhoda  about  something  in  particular,  which  he  could  not 
say  before  me.  He  may  have  wanted  to  sound  them. 
But  then  it  is  so  very  odd  that  he  should  have  said  that 
George  had  never  told  him  I  had  come  back.  But  I 
don't  believe  he  ever  did  say  that."  Serena  was  grow- 
ing more  and  more  excited.  She  drifted  along  the  pave- 
ment, in  her  rustling  petticoats,  with  the  most  unusually 
animated  expression  of  countenance. 

"  I  remember — of  course  he  did  not  say  it.  He  avoided 
the  question  each  time.  How  very  extraordinary!  I 
think  he  must  mean  me  to  understand  something  by  that. 
I  wonder  if  George  will  refer  to  it  at  luncheon.  If  he 
does  not  I  must  find  out  from  Rhoda,  but  without  letting 
her  suspect  that  I  observed  anything,  of  course." 

Serena  had  quite  ceased  to  be  offended.  Her  fancy, 
indeed,  had  taken  a  most  wildly  ingenious  flight.  She 
felt  very  remarkable,  very  acute,  quite  dangerous,  in 
short — and  these  sensations,  however  limited  their  justi- 
fication by  fact,  were  highly  agreeable  to  her. 


CHAPTER    XV 

THE  heavens  remained  clear,  the  air  exhilarating,  and 
Iglesias  set  forth  on  his  weekly  pilgrimage  in  a  serene 
frame  of  mind.  George  Lovegrove's  view  had  been  reas- 
suring. 

"  I  know  you  are  much  more  far-sighted  than  I  am," 
he  had  said,  his  honest  face  beaming  with  combined 
cleanliness  and  affection,  "  so  I  always  hesitate  to  set 
up  my  opinion  against  yours.  It  would  be  presump- 
tuous. Still,  you  do  surprise  me.  I  never  had  an  inkling 
of  anything  of  the  sort;  and  between  ourselves — for  I 
should  never  hint  at  the  subject  before  the  wife,  you 
know — it  might  upset  her,  females  are  so  sensitive — but 
between  ourselves  it  would  fairly  unman  me  to  think  there 
could  be  any  unsoundness  in  Barking  Brothers  &  Bark- 
ing. You  know  the  phrase  current  in  the  city  about 
them — 'as  safe  as  the  Bank  of  England'?  And  I  have 
always  believed  that.  I  know  I  left  before  Mr.  Reginald 
had  any  active  share  in  the  business,  and  I  never  have 
cared  about  American  speculation.  It  is  all  beyond  me. 
Still  I  cannot  suppose  the  senior  partners  would  let  him 
have  too  much  his  own  way.  Depend  upon  it,  Sir  Abel 
keeps  an  eye  on  him.  And  then  as  to  this  war,  of  course 
you  have  studied  it  all  more  deeply  than  I  have  the  power 
to  do ;  still  I  cannot  help  thinking  you  distress  yourself 
unnecessarily.  As  I  said  to  the  wife  when  I  first  heard 
of  it,  it's  suicidal.  One  can  only  feel  pity  for  such  poor 
ignorant  creatures,  rushing  headlong  on  their  ruin. 
Depend  upon  it,  they  will  very  soon  come  to  their  senses 
and  deplore  their  own  rash  action.  A  very  few  weeks  will 
see  the  finish  of  it  all.  I  only  hope  there  will  not  be  much 

153 


154  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

bloodshed  first,  for  of  course  they  couldn't  stand  up 
against  English  troops  for  an  hour,  poor  things." 

Encouraged  by  which  cheerful  optimism  Dominic 
Iglesias  began  to  think  his  fears  exaggerated,  as  he 
descended  from  an  omnibus  top  at  Hammersmith  Bridge 
that  afternoon,  crossed  the  river,  and  walked  on  down 
the  long  suburban  road.  The  sky  was  sharply  blue. 
Multicoloured  leaves  danced  down  from  the  trees  in  the 
villa  gardens.  Gaily  clad  children,  pursued  by  anxious 
mothers  and  nursemaids,  ran  and  shouted,  the  sunshine 
and  fresh  air  having  gone  to  their  heads.  Perched  on  the 
brick  pier  of  an  entrance  gate,  a  robin  uplifted  its  voice 
in  piercingly  sweet  song.  Autumn  wore  her  fairest  face, 
speaking  of  promise  rather  than  of  decay.  It  was  good 
to  be  alive.  Even  to  Mr.  Iglesias'  sober  and  chastened 
spirit  horror  of  war,  disgrace  of  financial  failure,  seemed 
remote  and  inconsiderable  things,  morbid  delusions  such 
as  sane  men  brush  aside  scorning  to  give  them  harbourage 
so  much  as  of  thought. 

Poppy  was  mirthful,  too,  in  her  greeting  of  him. 

"  My  dear  man,"  she  cried,  "  the  house  is  out  of 
windows !  You  find  us  in  the  throes  of  a  great  domestic 
event.  Cappadocia  has  done  her  duty  by  posterity.  She 
has  been  brought  to  bed,  if  you'll  excuse  my  mentioning 
it,  of  four  puppies.  Perfect  little  lambs,  not  a  white 
hair  among  them.  And  she  shows  true  maternal  feeling, 
does  Cappadocia.  Whenever  you  go  near  her  she  tries 
to  bite." 

Poppy  spoke  very  fast,  holding  his  hand,  looking  him 
full  in  the  face,  her  singular  eyes  very  gentle  in  expres- 
sion, yet  all  a-light. 

"  Ah !  it's  good  to  see  you.  My  stars,  but  It  is  good 
to  see  you,"  she  said. 

And  Dominic,  moved  beyond  his  wont,  stood  silent  for 
a  space. 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  155 

"  ifou're  not  offended  ?  Surely,  at  this  time  of  the 
day,  you're  not  going  to  stiffen  up?  "  she  asked. 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  No,  no,  dear  friend,"  he  said ;  "  but  this  greeting  is 
a  little  wonderful  to  me.  Except  my  mother,  years  ago, 
nobody  has  ever  cared  whether  I  came  or  went." 

"  More  fools  they,"  Poppy  answered,  with  a  fine  dis- 
regard of  grammar.  "  But  all  that's  over  now.  You 
know  it's  over.  All  the  same  I  can't  be  altogether  sorry 
it  was  so,  because  it  gives  me  my  chance. — Sit  down;  I'll 
expound  to  you.  Let  us  talk. — You  see,  my  beautiful 
innocent,  with  most  men  worth  knowing — I  am  not  talk- 
ing about  boys  running  about  with  the  shell  still  on  their 
heads  and  more  affections  to  place  than  they  can  find  a 
market  for,  but  men.  Well  then,  with  most  all  of  them, 
when  one  comes  to  discuss  matters,  one  finds  one's  had 
such  an  awful  lot  of  predecessors.  At  best  one  comes  in 
a  bad  third — more  often  a  bad  three-and-twentieth — I 
mean  nothing  risky.  Don't  be  nervous.  But  they  have 
romantic  memories  of  half-a-dozen  women.  And  so, 
though  they  are  no  end  nice  and  kind  to  one,  play  up 
and  give  one  a  good  time  and  have  a  jolly  good  one 
themselves — trust  'em  to  take  care  of  that — one  knows 
all  the  while,  if  one  knows  anything,  that  the  whole  show's 
merely  a  rechauffe.  Visions  of  Clara  and  Gladys,  and 
dear  little  Emily,  and  Rosina,  and  Beatrice,  and  the 
lovely  Lucinda — angels,  every  one  of  them,  if  you  haven't 
seen  them  for  ten  years,  and  wouldn't  know  them  again 
if  you  met  them  in  the  street — haunt  the  background  of 
every  man's  mind  by  the  time  he's  five-and- thirty,  and 
cut  entrancing  capers  against  the  sky-line,  so  that — when 
one  comes  to  thrash  the  matter  out — one  finds  the  actually 
present  woman,  here  in  the  foreground,  hasn't  really  any 
look-in  at  all." 

Poppy  threw  her  head  back  against  the  yellowish  red 


156  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

cushions  of  the  settee,  her  teeth  showing  white  as  she 
laughed. 

"  Boys  aren't  worth  having.  They're  too  crude,  too 
callow.  Moreover,  it  isn't  playing  the  game.  One  doesn't 
want  to  make  a  mess  of  their  futures,  poor  little  chaps. 
And  grown  men,  except  as  I  say  of  the  very  preengaged 
sort,  are  not  to  be  had.  So  don't  you  understand,  most 
delightful  lunatic,  how  it  comes  to  pass  that  you  and 
your  friendship  are  precious  to  me  beyond  words?  When 
you  go  I  could  cry.  When  you  come  I  could  dance." 

Her  tone  changed,  becoming  defiant,  almost  fierce. 

"  And  it  is  all  right,"  she  said,  "  thank  heaven,  right, 
— right,  clean,  and  honest,  and  good  for  one's  soul.  Now 
I've  done.  Only  we  are  very  happy  in  our  own  quaint 
way,  aren't  we?  And  we  can  leave  it  at  that.  Oh,  yes, 
we  can  very  well  leave  it  at  that  if  " — she  looked  sideways 
at  Mr.  Iglesias,  her  expression  half-humorous,  half- 
pathetic — "  if  only  it  will  stay  at  that  and  not  play  the 
mischief  and  scuttle  off  into  something  quite  else." 

She  got  up  quickly,  with  a  little  air  of  daring  and 
bravado. 

"  I  must  move  about.  I  must  do  something — there, 
I'll  make  up  the  fire.  No,  sit  still,  dear  man " — as 
Dominic  prepared  to  rise  also — "  I  like  'doing  little  odd 
jobs  with  you  here.  It  takes  off  the  company  feeling, 
and  makes  it  seem  as  if  you  belonged,  and  like  the  bicycle, 
had  '  come  to  stay.'  " 

Poppy  threw  a  couple  of  driftwood  logs  upon  the 
smouldering  fire.  Around  them  sharp  tongues  of  flame 
— rose  and  saffron,  amber,  sea-green,  and  heliotrope, 
glories  as  of  a  tropic  sunset — leaped  upward.  She  stood 
watching  these,  her  left  hand  resting  on  the  edge  of  the 
mantelpiece,  her  right  holding  up  the  front  of  her  black 
skirt.  Her  right  foot  rested  on  the  fender  curb,  thereby 
displaying  a  discreet  interval  of  openwork  silk  stocking 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  157 

and  a  neatly  cut  steel-buckled  shoe.  The  many-hued  fire- 
light flickered  over  her  dark  figure;  over  the  soft  lace 
jabot  at  her  throat  and  ruffles  at  her  wrists;  over  her 
pale  profile ;  and  glinted  in  the  heavy  masses  of  her  hair. 
The  room,  facing  east,  was  cold  with  shadow,  which  the 
thin  fantastic  colours  of  the  flames  appeared  to  emphasise 
rather  than  to  relieve.  And  Iglesias,  obedient  to  her 
entreaty,  sat  quietly  waiting  until  it  should  again  please 
her  to  speak.  For  he  had  begun  to  accept  her  many 
changes  of  mood  as  an  integral  element  of  her  personality 
— a  personality  rich  in  rapid  and  subtle  contradictions. 
Often  he  had  no  clue  to  the  meaning  of  these  many 
changes.  But  he  did  not  mind  that.  Not  absence  of 
vulgar  curiosity  alone,  but  an  unwilling  sub-conscious 
shrinking  from  any  too  close  acquaintance  with  the  details 
of  her  life  contributed  to  render  him  passive.  He  had  a 
conviction,  though  he  had  never  formulated  it  even  in 
thought,  that  ignorance  in  relation  to  her  made  for  secur- 
ity and  content.  And  there  was  a  refined  charm  in  this — 
namely,  that  each  to  the  other,  even  while  friendship 
deepened,  should  remain  something  of  an  undiscovered 
country.  Moreover,  had  she  not  told  him  that  he  rested 
her?  To  ask  questions,  however  sympathetic,  to  volun- 
teer consolation,  however  delicately  worded,  is  to  risk 
being  officious;  and  to  be  officious,  in  however  mild  a 
degree,  is  to  drive  away  the  shy  and  elusive  spirit  of 
rest.  And  so  Dominic  Iglesias  was  coming,  in  the  good 
nautical  reading  of  that  phrase,  simply  "  to  stand  by  " 
and  wait  where  this  woman  was  concerned.  After  all, 
it  was  but  the  reapplication  of  a  lesson  learned  long  ago 
for  the  support  and  solace  of  another  woman,  by  him 
supremely  loved.  To  act  thus  was,  therefore,  not  only 
natural  but  poignantly  sweet  to  him,  as  a  new  and  gentle 
offering  laid  upon  the  dear  altar  of  his  dead.  It  rejoiced 
him  to  find  that  now,  as  of  old,  the  demand  created  a 


158  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

supply  of  silent  but  sustaining  moral  force,  ready  to 
pass  into  the  sphere  of  active  help  should  necessity 
arise. 

Nevertheless  as  the  minutes  passed,  while  daylight  and 
firelight  alike  began  to  fade,  Dominic  Iglesias  grew  some- 
what troubled  and  sad.  And  it  was  with  a  distinct 
movement  of  relief  that  he,  at  last,  saw  Poppy  draw 
herself  up,  push  the  soft  masses  of  her  hair  back  from 
her  forehead  with  a  petulant  gesture,  and  turn  towards 
him.  As  she  did  so  she  let  her  hands  drop  at  her  sides, 
as  though  she  had  finished  with  and  dismissed  some  unwel- 
come form  of  thought,  while  her  face  showed  wan,  and 
her  eyes  large  and  vague,  as  though  they  saw  beyond  and 
through  all  that  which  they  actually  looked  on. 

"  There,  there,"  she  said  harshly,  with  an  angry  lift 
of  her  head,  "  what  a  silly  fool  I  am,  wasting  time  like 
this  when  you  are  here.  But  my  soul  went  out  of  my 
body;  and  I  could  afford  to  let  it  go,  just  because  you 
were  here,  and  I  felt  safe."  Her  tone  softened.  "  Sure 
I  don't  bore  you?  "  she  asked. 

Dominic  shook  his  head,  smiling. 

"  Very  sure,"  he  said. 

"  Bless  you,  then  that's  all  right."  Poppy  strolled 
back  and  sat  down  languidly.  "  I've  gone  confoundedly 
tired,"  she  said.  "  You  see,  I  sat  up  half  the  night  acting 
Gamp  to  Cappadocia — if  you  excuse  my  again  alluding 
to  the  domestic  event. — Oh !  my  being  tired  doesn't  matter. 
My  dear  man,  I'm  never  ill.  I'm  as  strong  as  a  horse. 
Let's  talk  of  something  more  interesting — let's  review  the 
topics  of  the  hour — only  for  the  life  of  me  I  can't  remem- 
ber what  the  topics  of  the  hour  are !  Yes,  I  know  though 
— the  management  of  the  Twentieth  Century  Theatre  has 
given  Dot  Parris  a  leading  part.  Does  that  leave  you 
cold?  Impossible!  Why,  in  theatrical  circles  it's  a  world- 
shaking  event.  I  own  I'm  curious  to  see  how  she  docs 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  159 

in  legitimate  drama,  after  her  career  in  musical  comedy 
and  at  the  halls,  myself.  I'm  really  very  fond  of  her, 
poor  little  Dot.  She's  going  to  call  herself  Miss  Char- 
lotte Colthurst  in  the  future,  I  understand.  Did  you  ever 
hear  such  cheek?  But  then  she  always  had  the  cheek  of 
the  old  gentleman  himself,  and  that  makes  for  success. 
Cheek  does  go  an  awfully  long  way  towards  bringing 
you  through,  don't  you  think  so  ?  " 

"  Probably,"  Dominic  said.  "  My  opportunities  of 
exercising  that  particular  form  of  virtue  have  been  so 
limited  that  I  am  quite  prepared  to  accept  your  ruling 
on  the  point." 

Poppy  laughed  softly,  looking  at  him  with  a  great 
friendliness. 

"  Ah !  but  it  wouldn't  have  been  cheek  in  your  case, 
anyhow.  It  would  merely  have  been  that  you  stepped  into 
your  right  place,  ascended  any  throne  that  happened  to 
be  vacant,  princely-wise,  and  assumed  what  we  may  call 
top-dog  place  by  right  divine.  I  can  see  you  doing  it, 
so  statelily  and  yet  so  innocently.  It  would  be  a  perfectly 
delicious  sight.  I  believe  you  will  do  it  yet,  some  day, 
somehow,  and  make  a  lot  of  people  sit  up.  But  that 
reminds  me,  joking  apart,  there  is  a  topic  of  the  hour  I 
wanted  to  ask  you  about.  Tell  me  what  you  think  of  this 
war." 

And  Dominic  Iglesias,  once  more  obedient  to  her 
changing  mood,  replied  with  quiet  sincerity : 

"  I  am  told  I  am  an  alarmist.  I  hope  I  may  prove  to 
be  so,  for  in  this  matter  I  should  much  prefer  the  optimists 
to  be  in  the  right.  But  I  confess  I  do  not  like  the  outlook. 
Both  on  public  and  private  grounds  this  war  makes  me 
anxious." 

Poppy's  languor  had  vanished.  She  had  grown  very 
much  alive  again.  Now  she  leaned  forward,  pressing  her' 
bands  together,  palm  to  palm,  between  her  knees,  and 


160  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

making  herself  small,  as  a  child  does  when  it  is  deeply  in 
earnest  and  wants  to  think. 

"  You're  right,"  she  assented.  "  I'm  perfectly  certain 
all  this  cocksure  Johnny-head-in-air  business,  '  sail  to-day 
and  see  you  again  at  tea  tomorrow,  so  it's  not  worth 
while  saying  good-by ' — you  know  the  style? — is  fatuous 
and  idiotic.  It  is  not  bluff,  because  the  English  officer- 
man  doesn't  bluff.  He  hasn't  the  brains,  to  begin  with, 
and  then  he  is  a  very  sound  sort  of  an  animal.  He 
doesn't  need  to  hide  his  fright  for  the  simple  reason  that 
he's  not  frightened.  A  friend  of  mine  was  talking  about 
it  all  yesterday.  He  thinks  as  you  do,  and  he's  no  silly, 
though  he  is  a  member  of  the  House  of  Lords. — After 
all,  he  can't  help  that,  poor  dear  old  chap,"  she  added 
apologetically,  looking  sideways  at  Mr.  Iglesias.  "  But 
there,  you've  seen  him,  I  believe.  You  met  him  the  first 
time  you  came  here.  Don't  you  remember,  I  had  to  turn 
you  out  because  I  had  to  see  him  on  business,  and  you 
ran  across  him  in  the  hall  as  you  were  going?  " 

"  I  remember  meeting  someone,"  Dominic  said,  rather 
loftily.  He  did  not  want  to  hear  any  more.  The  conver- 
sation had  become  displeasing  to  him,  though  he  could 
have  given  no  reason  for  his  displeasure.  But  Poppy 
suddenly  turned  mischievous  and  naughty.  She  patted 
her  hands  gently  together  between  her  knees  and  swayed 
with  rather  impish  merriment. 

"  Ah,  of  course  you  were  much  too  grand  to  take  any 
particular  notice  of  him,  poor  brute.  But  he  wasn't  a 
bit  too  grand  to  take  a  lot  of  notice  of  you.  He  was 
fearfully  impressed.  Yes,  I  tell  you  he  was.  Don't  be 
cross.  I  am  speaking  the  veracious  truth.  I  give  you 
my  word  I'm  not  gassing.  He  was  awfully  keen  to  know 
who  you  were,  and  where  you  came  from,  and  how  I 
met  you.  And  it  was  the  sweetest  thing  out  to  be  able  to 
reply  that  I'd  been  introduced  to  you  on  a  bench — a 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  161 

mighty  uncomfortable  one,  too,  with  no  back  to  it! — on 
Barnes  Common  by  Cappadocia;  and  that  as  to  your 
name  and  local  habitation  I  hadn't  the  faintest  ghost  of 
a  notion  what  they  were.  Are  you  cross?  Don't  be 
cross,"  Poppy  pleaded. 

"  No,  no,  of  course  not,"  Mr.  Iglesias  answered, 
goaded  from  his  habitual  calm  and  speaking  almost 
sharply. 

Poppy  patted  her  palms  together  again,  swaying 
backwards  and  forwards.  Her  eyes  were  dancing. 

"Oh!  but  you  are,  though,"  she  cried.  "You're  just 
a  wee  bit  jealous.  You  are — you  know  you  are,  and 
I'm  not  a  scrap  sorry.  On  the  contrary,  I'm  enchanted. 
For  it  shows  that  you  are  human  after  all,  and  must  have 
a  name  and  address  tucked  away  somewhere  about  you.  I 
don't  want  to  know  what  they  are,  but  it's  comfortable 
to  be  assured  of  their  existence.  It  shows  you  don't  drop 
straight  down  from  heaven — as  I  was  beginning  to  be 
afraid  you  did — once  a  week,  into  the  Mortlake  Road, 
and  then  go  straight  up  again.  It  shows  that  I  could  get 
on  to  you  by  post,  or  telephone,  or  other  means  of 
communication  common  to  mortals,  if  I  was  in  a  tight 
place  and  really  wanted  you,  without  walking  as  far  as 
Hammersmith  Bridge  and  waiting  in  the  wind  and  the 
wet  on  the  bare  chance  you  might  take  it  into  your  august 
head  to  materialise,  and  break  out  of  paradise,  and  take 
a  little  stroll  round  our  sublunary  sphere." 

For  a  moment  Poppy  laid  her  hand  lightly  on  Mr. 
Iglesias'  shoulder. 

"  Yes,  be  cross,"  she  repeated.  "  Just  as  cross  as  ever 
you  like,  so  long  as  you  don't  keep  it  up  too  protractedly. 
It's  the  most  engaging  piece  of  flattery  I've  come  across 
for  a  month  of  Sundays.  Only  you  needn't  worry  in 
this  particular  instance,  dear  man,  I  give  you  my  word 
you  needn't.  It's  a  sheer  waste  of  feeling.  For  Fallow- 


162  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

feild's  always  been  perfectly  decent  with  me.  I  know 
people  think  him  an  awfully  risky  lot,  but  they're 
noodles.  He's  racketed  in  his  day — of  course  he  has. 
But  if  he'd  been  more  of  a  hypocrite,  people  would  have 
talked  less.  As  the  man  says  in  the  play,  it's  not  the 
sin  but  the  being  found  out  which  makes  the  scandal. 
And  Fallowfeild  was  too  honest.  He  never  pretended  to 
be  better  than  he  was.  He  is  a  man  of  good  nature  who 
has  done  wrong  things,  which  is  quite  different  to  being 
a  man  of  bad  nature  who  does  wrong  things,  and  still 
more  different  to  being  a  man  of  weak  nature  who  pre- 
tends to  do  right  things.  That  last  is  the  sort  I  hate 
most,  and  I  speak  out  of  beastly  intimate  experience." 

She  made  a  most  expressive  grimace,  as  though  she 
had  a  remarkably  disagreeable  taste  in  her  mouth. 

"  No  salvation  for  that  sort,  I  believe,"  she  went  on, 
"  either  here  or  hereafter.  Now,  are  you  better?  You 
do  believe  it  has  always  been  perfectly  square  and  above- 
board  between  Fallowfeild  and  me,  don't  you?  " 

"  Unquestionably,  I  believe  it,"  Dominic  answered.  He 
spoke  slowly. 

Poppy  turned  her  head  sharply  and  looked  hard  at  him. 

"Ah!  but  I  don't  quite  like  that,"  she  said.  "I've 
muddled  it  somehow — I  see  I  have.  I've  hurt  and  offended 
you.  You're  farther  off  than  you  were  ten  minutes  ago. 
In  spirit  you've  got  up  and  gone  away.  I  have  muddled 
it.  I  have  made  you  distrust  me." 

"  No,"  Dominic  answered,  "  you  have  not  made  me 
distrust  you;  but  you  have  perplexed  me.  It  is  the 
result  of  my  own  dulness,  no  doubt.  My  imagination  is 
not  agile  enough  to  follow  you,  and  so " 

He  hesitated.  That  which  he  had  in  his  mind  was  not 
easy  to  put  into  words  without  discourtesy.  He  would 
far  rather  have  left  it  unsaid;  but  to  do  so  would  have 
been,  in  truth,  to  stand  farther  off,  to  erect  a  barrier 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  163 

which  might  prove  insuperable  to  happy  companionship 
in  the  future. 

"Yes?"  Poppy  queried.  Her  voice  shook  just  per- 
ceptibly. In  the  deepening  dusk  neither  could  see  the 
other  distinctly,  and  this  contributed  to  Dominic's  decision 
to  speak. 

'^It  pains  me,"  he  said  at  last,  "  if  you  will  pardon 
my  frankness,  that  you  should  think  it  necessary  to 
account  for  yourself  and  justify  yourself  as  you  often 
appear  to  do." 

"  Yes  ?  "  Poppy  queried  again. 

"  That  you  should  do  so  distresses  and  disturbs  me." 

"  Yes,"  Poppy  murmured. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  grow  selfish,"  Iglesias  went  on  gently ; 
"  but  you  have  been  good  enough  to  tell  me  that  my  poor 
friendship  is  of  valufe  to  you.  Does  it  not  occur  to  you 
that  yours  is  of  far  greater  value  to  me?  And  that  for 
many  and  obvious  reasons — these  among  others,  that 
while  you  are  young,  and  have  a  wide  circle  of  acquaint- 
ances, and  a  future  to  which,  brilliant  as  you  are,  you 
may  look  forward  with  hope  and  assurance,  I  am  abso- 
lutely alone  in  the  world.  Save  for  one  old  school-fellow, 
who  has  been  very  faithful  to  me,  there  is  no  one  to 
whom  it  matters,  except  in  the  most  superficial  degree, 
whether  I  live  or  die." 

"  Ah !  "  Poppy  said  softly. 

"  Do  not  misunderstand  me,  I  do  not  complain," 
Iglesias  added.  "  I  entertain  no  doubt  but  that  the 
circumstances  in  which  I  find  myself  are  the  right  and 
profitable  ones  for  me,  if  I  only  lay  to  heart  the  lessons 
they  teach,  and  use  the  opportunities  which  they  af- 
ford me." 

"  I  don't  know  about  that — I  doubt  that,"  Poppy  put 
in  hastily. 

"  You  doubt  it  because  you  are  young,"  he  answered, 


164  THE     FAR    HORIZON 

"  and  your  circumstances  are  capable  of  alteration  and 
development.  Except  under  very  exceptional  conditions, 
resignation  is  no  virtue  in  the  young.  It  is  more  often 
an  excuse  for  cowardice  and  sloth.  But  at  my  age  the 
world  changes  its  complexion.  My  circumstances  are 
incapable  of  alteration  and  development.  They  are  final. 
Therefore  I  do  well  to  accept  them  unreservedly.  The 
work  of  my  life  is  done.  I  do  not  say  that  it  has  been 
a  failure,  for  I  fulfilled  the  main  object  I  had  in  view. 
But  it  has  certainly  been  obscure  and  inglorious.  The 
sun  will  sink  dimly  enough  into  a  bank  of  fog.  My  pres- 
ent is  meagre  in  interest  and  activity.  My  future,  a  brief 
enough  one  in  all  probability,  must  of  necessity  be  meagre 
likewise.  Therefore  your  friendship  is  of  supreme  impor- 
tance to  me." 

Iglesias  paused.  His  voice  was  grave,  distinct,  weighted 
with  feeling.  He  did  not  look  at  his  companion;  he 
could  not  trust  himself  to  do  so,  for  he  had  discovered  in 
himself  unexpected  depths  of  emotion. 

"  And  just  on  that  account,"  he  went  on,  "  I  grow 
childishly  nervous,  childishly  apprehensive  if  anything 
arises  which  seems  to  cloud  or,  in  however  small  a  measure, 
to  endanger  the  serenity  of  our  intercourse." 

He  turned  and  looked  at  her. 

"  This  constitutes  no  slight  to  you,  dear  friend." 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  very  certainly  it  is  no  slight.  On 
the  contrary,  it  is  very  beautiful;  but  it's  an  awful  re- 
sponsibility, too." 

She  sat  quite  still,  her  head  carried  high,  her  hands 
clasped  in  her  lap. 

"  I've  underrated  the  position,  I  see.  I've  only  thought 
of  myself  so  far  and  how  you  pleased  me.  But  though 
I'm  pretty  cheeky,  too — almost  as  cheeky  as  little  Dot — 
I  never  had  the  presumption  to  put  the  affair  the  other 
about." 


THE     FAR    HORIZON  165 

Pbppy  began  to  sway  slightly  again  and  pat  the 
palms  of  her  hands  together  between  her  knees. 

"  It's  been  a  game,  the  finest  game  I've  ever  played ; 
and  I  swore  by  all  my  gods  to  play  fair.  But,  as  you 
look  at  it,  our  friendship  amounts  to  a  good  deal  more 
than  a  game.  It  goes  very  deep.  And  I'm  not  sure — 
no,  I'm  not — whether  I'm  equal  to  it." 

She  glanced  at  Iglesias  strangely  through  the  clinging 
grey  of  the  dusk. 

"  Dear  unknown,"  she  said,  "  I  give  you  my  word 
I'm  frightened — I  who've  never  been  frightened  at  any 
man  yet.  In  my  own  little  way  I've  played  pitch  and 
toss  with  their  hearts  and  made  footballs  of  them — except 
that  poor  young  fellow — I  told  you  about  him  the  first 
time  we  met — who  gave  me  the  scarf,  and  whose  people 
wouldn't  let  him  marry  me.  But  this  affair  with  you  is 
different.  It  goes  very  far,  it  means — it  means  nothing 
short  of  revolution  for  me,  of  putting  away  and  renounc- 
ing very  much." 

Poppy  got  up,  stood  pushing  her  hair  back  with  both 
hands  from  her  forehead.  Then  she  moved  across  to 
the  further  side  of  the  fireplace.  Dominic  had  risen  also. 
He  stood  on  the  near  side  of  the  hearth.  He  was  pene- 
trated with  the  conviction  that  a  crisis  was  upon  them 
both,  involving  all  the  happiness  of  their  future  relation 
to  one  another. 

"  You  don't  understand,"  Poppy  cried  passionately. 
"  And  I  don't  want  you  to  understand — that's  half  the 
trouble.  I  want  to  keep  you.  Your  friendship's  the 
loveliest  thing  I've  ever  had.  And  yet  I  don't  know. 
For  I'm  not  one  woman — I'm  half-a-dozen  women,  and 
they  all  pull  all  sorts  of  ways  so  that  I  daren't  trust 
myself.  I  want  to  keep  you,  I  tell  you,  I  want  horribly 
to  keep  you.  Yet  I'm  ghastly  afraid  I'm  not  equal  to  it. 
The  price  is  too  big." 


166  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

As  she  spoke  Poppy  dashed  her  hand  against  the 
push  of  the  electric  bell,  and  held  it  there,  ringing  a  pro- 
longed alarum,  in  quick  response  to  which  Phillimore,  the 
respectable  elderly  parlourmaid,  appeared,  bearing  two 
rose-shaded  lamps.  Noiselessly  and  deftly — as  one  ac- 
customed to  agitations,  whose  eyes  did  not  see  or  ears  hear 
if  it  should  be  unadvisable  to  permit  them  to  do  so — she 
drew  the  curtains,  made  up  the  fire,  set  out  the  tea-table. 
And  with  that  change  of  scene  and  shutting  out  of  the 
dusk,  Poppy  seemed  to  change  also ;  gravity  and  strength 
of  purpose  departing  from  her,  and  leaving  her — notwith- 
standing her  sober  dress — unreal,  fictitious,  artificial,  the 
red-lipped  carmine-tinted  lady  of  the  footlights,  of  the 
windswept  dust  and  embroidered  dragons  again.  She 
chattered,  moreover,  ceaselessly,  careless  of  interruption, 
and  of  criticism  alike. 

"  Here,  let's  hark  back  to  the  ordinary  conduct  of 
material  existence,"  she  said.  "Tea?  Won't  you  sit 
down?  No — well,  just  as  you  like  best.  Take  it  stand- 
ing. Let  me  see,  what  were  we  discussing  when  we  got 
switched  on  to  unexpectedly  personal  lines  of  conversa- 
tion? The  war — yes,  I  remember.  I  was  just  going  to 
tell  you  that  Fallowfeild  believes  it's  going  to  be  a  nasty 
dragging  unsatisfactory  business.  Everyone  gasses  about 
the  Boers  being  a  simple  pastoral  people.  But  Fallow- 
feild says  their  simplicity  is  just  another  name  for  guile, 
and  that  he  anyway  can't  conceive  a  more  disconcerting 
job  than  fighting  a  nation  of  farmers  and  huntsmen  and 
gamekeepers  in  their  own  country,  every  inch  of  which 
they  know.  People  say  they've  no  military  science.  But 
so  jolly  much  the  better  for  them.  They  can  be  unfet- 
tered opportunists,  with  nothing  to  think  of  but  outwit- 
ting the  enemy  and  saving  their  property  and  their  skins. 
The  poor  British  Tommy  will  be  no  match  for  them; 
nor  will  the  British  officer-man  either,  till  he's  unlearned 


THE     FAR    HORIZON  167 

his  p'arade-ground  etiquette,  and  his  haw-haw  red-tape 
methods  and  manner,  and  learned  their  very  primitive  but 
very  cute  and  foxy  ones.  By  which  time,  Fallowfeild 
says,  the  mourning  warehouses  here  at  home  will  have 
made  a  record  turnover,  and  there  will  be  altogether  too 
many  new  graveyards  for  comfort  in  South  Africa." 

Poppy  paused  in  her  harangue,  for  Dominic  Iglesias 
had  set  down  his  cup,  its  contents  untasted.  He  was  sad 
at  heart. 

"  Are  you  going  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered.  "  It  grows  late.  It's  time  I  went, 
I  think." 

"  Perhaps  it  is."  Poppy's  eyes  had  become  inscrut- 
able. "  I  really  ought  to  attend  to  my  Gamping,  and 
pass  the  time  of  day  with  Cappadocia.  Her  snappish- 
ness  has  scared  the  maids.  They  refuse  to  go  within  a 
measured  furlong  of  her." 

Poppy  bent  down  over  the  tea-table,  arranging  the 
teacups  with  elaborate  neatness. 

"  Good-by,"  she  said.  "  I  don't  quite  know  when  we 
shall  meet  again." 

"  Why  ?  "  Iglesias  asked.  The  muscles  of  his  throat 
were  rigid.  He  had  much  ado  to  speak  plainly  and  natu- 
rally. "  Are  you  leaving  home  ?  " 

"Home?"  she  answered.  "Yes,  I'm  leaving  it. 
Good-by  again.  Don't  let  me  keep  you.  Certainly  I'm 
leaving  home.  Indeed,  I  believe  I  have  left  it  already — 
for  good." 

And  she  threw  back  her  head  and  laughed. 

Upon  the  doorstep  a  cold  rush  of  air  met  Mr.  Iglesias. 
Above,  the  sky  was  blue-black  and  very  clear.  The  road 
was  vacant  and  grey  with  frost.  The  flame  of  the  gas- 
lamps  quivered,  giving  off  a  sharp  brightness  in  the  keen 
atmosphere.  Mr.  Iglesias  turned  up  the  collar  of  his 
coat  and  descended  the  steps.  Just  then  a  hansom 


168  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

emerged  from  the  distance  and  drew  up  with  a  rattle 
and  grind  against  the  curb  some  twenty  paces  ahead. 
The  occupant,  a  young  man,  flung  back  the  doors  with 
a  thud,  and  stood  a  moment  on  the  footboard  paying  the 
driver,  who  raised  himself,  leaning  forward  with  out- 
stretched hand  across  the  glistening  black  roof  of  the 
cab.  Then  the  young  man  turned  round,  swung  himself 
down  on  to  the  asphalt  pavement,  and  came  forward  as 
rapidly  as  a  long  motor-coat,  reaching  to  his  heels,  would 
permit.  He  was  tall  and  fair,  well-favoured,  preoccupied, 
not  to  say  morose.  He  did  not  vouchsafe  Mr.  Iglesias  so 
much  as  a  glance  as  he  brushed  past  him.  The  road  was 
still  vacant,  and  in  the  frosty  air  sounds  carried.  Mr. 
Iglesias  distinctly  heard  him  race  up  a  neighbouring  flight 
of  steps,  heard  the  click  and  turn  of  a  latchkey  in  a 
lock,  heard  the  slam  of  a  front  door  pulled  to  violently. 
And  so  doing  Dominic  turned  cold  and  a  little  faint.  He 
would  not  condescend  to  look  back ;  but  he  had  recognised 
Alaric  Barking,  and  was  in  no  doubt  which  house  he 
had  entered. 

"  Keb,  sir?  'Ere  yer  are,  sir,"  the  cabby  called 
cheerily.  "  Very  cold  night.  Just  set  one  gentleman  down, 
and  'appy  to  tike  another  up.  Want  to  get  back  to  my 
comfy  little  West  End  shelter,  so  I'll  tike  yer  for  'alf 
fares,  sir,  though  we  are  outside  the  blooming  radius." 

But  Iglesias  shook  his  head.  The  horse  stood  limply  in 
a  cloud  of  steam.  Alaric  Barking  had  evidently  pushed 
the  pace.  But  even  had  the  animal  been  in  better  condi- 
tion, Iglesias  had  no  desire  to  drive  in  that  particular  cab. 
He  would  rather  have  walked  the  whole  way  to  Cedar 
Lodge. 

Opposite  the  Bell  Inn,  where  the  roads  fork — one  turn- 
ing away  through  Mortlake,  the  other  leading  to  Barnes 
Common,  Roehamptori,  and  Sheen — the  row  of  smart  little 
houses  degenerates  into  shops.  By  the  time  he  reached 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  169 

these1'  Mr.  Iglesias  discovered  that  he  was  unaccountably 
tired.  The  keen  air  oppressed  his  chest,  making  his  breath 
come  short.  It  was  useless  to  attempt  to  go  home  on  foot. 
Then,  with  a  sense  of  relief,  he  saw  that  on  the  far  side 
of  the  road  a  couple  of  omnibuses  stood,  the  horses'  heads 
turned  Londonwards.  He  crossed,  climbed  the  stairway 
of  the  leading  vehicle  slowly,  and  sank  into  a  seat.  The 
'bustop  was  unoccupied,  yet  Dominic  was  not  by  himself. 
Two  companions  had  climbed  the  winding  stairway  with 
him  and  taken  their  places '  beside  him,  Old  Age  on  his 
left  hand,  Loneliness  on  his  right.  All  up  the  long  sub- 
urban road,  while  the  omnibus  bumped  and  jolted  and  the 
fallen  leaves  whirled  and  scurried  before  the  searching 
breath  of  the  night  wind,  Iglesias'  two  companions 
seemed  to  lean  across  him,  talking.  There  were  tones  of 
mockery  in  their  talk,  while  behind  and  through  it,  as 
some  discordant  refrain,  he  heard  the  ring  of  a  young 
man's  eager  footsteps,  the  click  and  turn  of  a  latchkey, 
and  the  slam  of  a  door  as  it  shut.  On  nearing  the  river 
the  cold  grew  intense.  Crossing  the  bridge,  the  water- 
side lights  were  reflected  in  the  surface  of  the  stream, 
which  ran  full  and  strong  from  the  autumn  rains,  swirling 
seaward  with  an  ebbing  tide.  To  Iglesias'  eyes  the  reflec- 
tions converted  themselves  into  fiery  dragons,  writhing  in 
the  heat  of  deadly  conflict,  as  upon  Poppy  St.  John's 
oriental  scarf.  A  glare  hung  over  London,  palpitating 
as  with  multitudinous  and  angry  life;  and  when  the 
omnibus  slowed  up  in  Hammersmith  Roadway  the  voice 
of  the  streets  grew  loud — the  monstrous  city,  so  it  seemed 
to  Dominic  Iglesias,  shouting  defiance  to  the  majestic 
calm  and  solemnity  of  the  eternal  stars. 


CHAPTER    XVI 

"  HE  says  it  is  nothing  serious,  only  a  slight  chill ;  and 
sends  kind  regards  and  many  thanks  for  kind  inquiries, 
and  hopes  to  be  out  in  a  day  or  two,  when  he  will  call 
and  thank  you  in  person." 

This  from  George  Lovegrove  to  his  wife,  the  latter 
arrayed  in  garments  of  ceremony  and  seated  upon  the 
Chesterfield  sofa  awaiting  guests.  It  was  her  afternoon 
at-home. 

"  Well,  I'm  sure  I  hope  it  is  no  more  than  that, 
Georgie,"  she  answered  comfortably.  "  Chills  are  always 
going  about  in  November,  and  very  often  gentlemen 
encourage  them — especially  bachelors — by  not  changing 
into  their  winter  vests  and  pants  early  enough.  A  great 
deal  of  illness  is  contracted  that  way." 

Here  Serena  rustled  audibly.  She  stood  by  the  win- 
dow, holding  the  lace  curtain  just  sufficiently  aside  to  get 
a  narrow  and  attenuated  view  of  the  fog-enshrouded 
Green.  The  outlook  was  far  from  inspiriting,  and  Serena 
was  keenly  interested  in  the  conversation  going  forward 
between  her  host  and  hostess.  But  it  was  not  in  her  pro- 
gramme to  let  this  appear.  She,  while  straining  her  ears 
to  listen,  therefore  maintained  an  air  of  detachment.  The 
word  "  pants  "  was,  however,  too  much  for  her  fortitude, 
and  she  rustled.  "  Really,  Rhoda  does  use  the  most 
dreadfully  unladylike  expressions  sometimes,"  she  com- 
mented inwardly.  "  She  never  seems  to  remember  that 
everyone  is  not  married,  though  even  if  they  were  I  should 
hope  they  would  not  mention  those  sort  of  things.  Rhoda 
is  wanting  in  refinement.  I  wonder  if  George  notices 
that  and  feels  it.  If  he  does  notice  it,  I  think  he  ought 

to  tell  her  about  it,  because " 

170 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  171 

But  here  she  fell  to  listening  again,  since  the  said 
George  took  up  his  parable  once  more. 

"  Still,  I  own  I  don't  like  his  looks  somehow.  His  face 
is  so  thin  and  drawn.  It  reminds  me  of  the  time  his 
mother,  poor  Mrs.  Iglesias,  died.  I  told  him,  just  jocu- 
larly, that  his  appearance  surprised  me,  but  he  put  it 
all  aside — you  know  he  has  a  very  high  aristocratic 
manner  at  times  that  makes  you  feel  you  have  been  intru- 
sive— and  then  talked  of  other  things." 

"  He  has  lived  too  solitary,"  Mrs.  Lovegrove  said 
judicially,  "  too  solitary,  and  that  tells  on  any  one  in 
middle  life.  I  should  never  forgive  myself  if  we  left  him  to 
mope.  You  must  just  try  to  coax  him  over  here  to  stay, 
Georgie,  and  I'll  nurse  him  up  and  humour  him,  and  for- 
tunately Serena's  here,  you  see,  for  pleasant  company." 

Mrs.  Lovegrove  looked  meaningly  at  her  spouse,  while 
the  figure  at  the  window  again  rustled. 

"  I  am  sure  you  would  exert  yourself  to  help  cheer  poor 
Mr.  Iglesias  up,  if  he  came  over  to  stay,  would  you  not 
now,  Serena  ?  "  she  inquired  insinuatingly. 

"Are  you  speaking  to  me,  Rhoda?  " 

"  Yes,  about  Mr.  Iglesias  coming  here  to  stay." 

Serena  turned  her  head  and  answered  over  her  shoulder. 

"  Of  course  you  and  George  are  quite  at  liberty  to  ask 
anyone  here  whom  you  like.  And  if  Mr.  Iglesias  came 
I  should  be  perfectly  civil  to  him.  But  I  should  not  care, 
Rhoda,  to  bind  myself  to  anything  more  than  that, 
because  I  do  not  find  him  an  easy  person  to  get  on  with." 

She  turned  to  her  contemplation  of  the  fog  with  a 
renewed  assumption  of  indifference.  George  Lovegrove's 
shiny  forehead  puckered  into  little  lines.  He  looked  anx- 
iously at  his  wife.  The  good  lady,  however,  laid  a  fat 
forefinger  upon  her  lips  and  nodded  her  head  at  him  in 
the  most  archly  reassuring  manner. 

"  That's   funny,"    she   said,    "  because   Mr.    Iglesias   is 


172  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

quite  the  cleverest  of  all  Georgie's  gentlemen  friends — 
except,  of  course,  the  dear  vicar — and  so  I  always  took 
for  granted  anyone  like  yourself  was  sure  to  get  on 
nicely  with  him,  Serena.  Even  I  hardly  ever  find  him 
difficult  to  talk  with." 

"  I  never  talk  easily  to  strangers,"  Serena  put  in  loftily. 

"  Oh !  but  you'd  hardly  call  Mr.  Iglesias  a  stranger." 

"  Yes,  I  should,"  Serena  declared  with  emphasis.  "  I 
should  certainly  call  him  a  stranger.  I  always  call  every- 
one a  stranger  till  I  know  them  intimately.  It  is  much 
safer  to  do  so.  And  it  would  be  absurd  to  pretend  that 
I  know  Mr.  Iglesias  intimately.  You,  of  course,  do,  but 
I  do  not.  You  and  George  may  have  seen  him  frequently 
since  I  have  been  here,  but  I  have  really  seen  him  very 
seldom,  four  or  five  times  at  the  outside.  He  has  generally 
appeared  to  call  when  I  was  likely  to  be  out.  I  could  not 
help  observing  that.  It  may  be  a  coincidence,  of  course. 
But  I  cannot  pretend  that  I  have  not  thought  it  rather 
marked." 

Serena  had  advanced  into  the  centre  of  the  room.  She 
held  herself  erect.  She  enjoyed  making  a  demonstration. 
"  Rhoda  may  think  I  am  a  cipher,"  she  said  to  her- 
self, "  but  she  is  mistaken.  She  may  think  I  can  be 
hoodwinked  and  used  as  a  mere  tool,  but  I  will  let  her 
see  that  I  cannot."  She  felt  daring  and  dangerous,  and 
her  eyes  snapped.  The  rustling  of  her  skirts  and  the 
emphatic  tones  of  her  voice  aroused  the  parrot,  which 
had  been  dosing  on  its  perch,  its  head  sunk  between  its 
shoulders  and  its  breast-feathers  fluffed  out  into  a  little 
green  apron  over  its  grey  claws. 

"Pollie's  own  pet  girlie,"  it  murmured  drowsily,  with 
dry  clickings  of  its  tongue  against  its  beak,  the  words 
jolting  out  in  foolish  twos  and  threes.  "  Hi !  p'liceman — 
murder!  fire!  thieves! — there's  another  jolly  row  down- 
stairs." 


THE     FAR    HORIZON  173 

Poor  George  Lovegrove  gazed  in  bewilderment  from 
Serena  to  the  parrot,  from  the  parrot  to  his  wife,  and 
then  back  to  Serena  again. 

"  You  do  surprise  me !  And  I  am  more  mortified  than 
I  can  say  that  you  should  have  the  most  distant  reason, 
Serena — or  Susan  either — ever  to  feel  the  least  slighted  in 
this  house.  You  do  surprise  me — I  can't  believe  it  has 
been  the  least  intentional  on  Iglesias'  part.  But  I  would 
not  have  had  anything  of  the  kind  happen  for  twenty 
pounds." 

"  Pray  don't  apologise,  George,"  Serena  cried,  "  or 
I  shall  feel  quite  annoyed.  Of  course  everyone  has  a 
right  to  their  own  preferences;  but  I  had  been  led  to 
expect  something  different.  As  I  say,  it  may  only  be  a 
coincidence.  Nothing  may  have  really  been  meant.  Only 
it  has  seemed  rather  marked.  But  in  any  case  it  has  not 
been  your  fault,  George." 

"  I  am  very  glad  you  allow  that,  Serena,"  the  good 
creature  said  humbly. 

"  Oh !  yes.  I  quite  excuse  you  of  any  intentional  slight, 
George.  I  quite  trust  you.  Still,  nothing  could  be  more 
unpleasant  than  for  me  to  feel  that  my  being  here  put 
any  restriction  upon  your  friends  coming  to  the  house. 
Of  course  I  know  Susan  and  I  move  in  rather  different 
society  from  Rhoda  and  yourself." 

"  Yes,"  he  assented  hurriedly,  agonised  as  to  the  wife's 
feelings — "  yes,  yes." 

"  And  so  it  is  quite  possible  that  I  may  not  suit  some 
of  your  acquaintances." 

"  Excuse  me,"  he  panted — "  no,  Serena,  I  cannot  think 
that." 

"  I  am  not  sure,"  she  returned  argumentatively.  "  Not 
at  all  sure,  George.  And  nothing  could  be  more  unpleas- 
ant to  me  than  to  feel  I  was  the  least  in  the  way.  Of 
course,  I  should  never  have  come  back  if  I  had  supposed 


174.  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

I  should  be  in  the  way;  but  Rhoda  made  such  a  point 
of  it." 

Here  the  parrot  broke  forth  into  prolonged  and  ear- 
piercing  shriekings,  flapping  its  wings  violently  and 
nearly  tumbled  backwards  off  its  perch. 

"  Throw  a  handkerchief  over  the  poor  bird's  cage, 
Georgie  dear,"  cried  Mrs.  Lovegrove  from  the  sofa.  Her 
face  was  red.  She  had  become  distressingly  hot  and 
flustered. — "  And  just  as  I  was  flattering  myself  it  was 
all  turning  out  so  nicely,  too,"  she  said  to  herself. — "  No, 
not  your  own,  Georgie  dear  " — this  aloud — "  you  may 
need  it  later.  The  red  bandana  out  of  the  right-hand 
corner  of  the  top  drawer  of  the  work-table." 

"  I  think  it  would  be  much  simpler  for  me  to  go,"  Serena 
continued,  her  voice  pitched  in  a  high  key  to  combat  the 
cries  of  the  parrot  and  the  rattle  of  the  table  drawer, 
which  George  Lovegrove  in  his  present  state  of  agitation 
found  it  impossible  to  shut  with  accuracy  and  despatch. 

"  Of  course,  it  may  inconvenience  Susan  to  have  me 
return  sooner  than  she  expected.  She  is  away  speaking 
at  a  number  of  missionary  meetings  in  the  North.  And 
the  maids  will  be  on  board  wages,  and  the  drawing-room 
furniture  will  have  been  put  into  holland  covers.  She 
counted  on  my  staying  here  till  I  go  to  my  cousin,  Lady 
Samuelson,  in  Ladbroke  Square,  the  third  week  in  De- 
cember. But,  of  course,  all  that  must  be  arranged.  I 
can  give  up  my  visit.  Lady  Samuelson  will  be  annoyed, 
and  I  don't  know  what  excuse  I  can  make  to  her.  Still, 
I  think  I  had  really  much  better  go ;  and  then  you  can 
have  Mr.  Iglesias,  or  any  other  of  your  and  Rhoda's 
friends,  to  stop  here  without  my  feeling  that  I  am  in 
the  way.  Nothing  could  be  more  odious  to  me  than  feel- 
ing I  was  encroaching  or  forcing  myself  upon  you. 
Mamma  would  never  have  countenanced  such  behaviour. 
It  is  the  sort  of  thing  we  were  always  brought  up  to 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  175 

hav£  the  greatest  horror  of.  It  is  a  thing  I  never  have 
done  and  never  could  do.  I  hope  you  understand  that, 
George.  Nothing  could  be  further  from  my  thoughts 
when  I  accepted  Rhoda's  invitation  to " 

"  Miss  Hart,  please,  ma'am,"  the  little  house-parlour- 
maid trumpeted,  her  face  very  pink  from  the  exertion  of 
attracting  her  mistress's  attention  and  making  herself 
heard.  Mrs.  Lovegrove  bounced  up  from  the  sofa. 
Usually,  it  must  be  allowed,  the  great  Eliza  was  rather 
at  a.  discount.  Now  she  was  astonishingly  welcome. 
Her  hostess's  greeting,  though  silent,  was  effusively  cor- 
dial. She  clutched  at  her  guest's  hand  as  one  in  imminent 
risk  of  drowning  at  a  lifebelt.  The  said  guest  was  in  her 
sprightliest  humour.  She  was  also  in  a  scarlet  flannel 
blouse  thickly  powdered  with  gradated  black  discs.  This, 
in  conjunction  with  purple  chrysanthemums  in  a  black 
hat,  her  tawny  hair  and  freckled  complexion,  did  not 
constitute  a  wholly  delicious  scheme  of  colour;  but  to  this 
fact  Mrs.  Lovegrove  was  supremely  indifferent. 

"  Good-afternoon,"  Miss  Hart  said  in  a  stage  whisper, 
glancing  towards  Serena,  still  bright-eyed  and  erect. 
"  Don't  let  me  interrupt,  pray.  My  conversation  will 
keep.  I  will  just  sit  and  listen." 

"Listen  to  what?"  Serena  cried,  almost  inarticulate 
with  indignation. 

"  Why,  to  your  recitation.  Our  gentlemen  often  treat 
us  to  a  little  in  that  line  of  an  evening,  Mrs.  Lovegrove, 
after  dinner.  I  dote  on  recitation.  Pieces  of  a  comic 
nature  specially,  when  well  delivered." 

"  I  should  never  dream  of  reciting,"  Serena  declared 
heatedly. 

"  No,  really  now,"  Miss  Hart  returned.  "  That  seems 
quite  a  pity.  It  is  such  a  pleasant  occupation  for  a 
dull  afternoon  like  this,  do  you  not  think  so,  Miss  Love- 
grove?  I  declare  I  was  quite  sure,  from  the  moment 


THE    FAR    HORIZON 

I  came  into  the  hall — while  I  was  taking  off  my  water- 
proof— that  your  cousin  was  giving  you  a  little  entertain- 
ment of  that  kind,  Mr.  Lovegrove.  Her  voice  was  running 
up  and  down  in  such  a  very  telling  manner." 

If  glances  could  scorch,  Miss  Hart  would  unquestionably 
have  been  reduced  to  a  cinder,  for  rage  possessed  Serena. 
She  had  worked  herself  up  into  a  fine  fume  of  anger 
over  purely  imaginary  injuries.  And  now,  that  Eliza 
Hart,  of  all  people  in  the  world,  should  intervene  with 
suggestions  of  comic  recitations ! 

"  Detestable  person !  "  Serena  said  to  herself.  "  Her 
conduct  is  positively  outrageous.  Of  course  she  knew 
perfectly  well  I  was  doing  nothing  of  the  kind.  Really, 
I  believe  anybody  would  feel  her  manner  quite  insulting. 
I  wonder  how  George  and  Rhoda  can  tolerate  her.  It 
shows  George  has  deteriorated  much  that  he  should  tol- 
erate her.  I  am  not  so  surprised  at  Rhoda.  Of  course 
she  never  had  good  taste.  I  think  I  ought  to  go  to 
my  room.  That  would  mark  my  displeasure.  But  then 
she  may  have  come  on  purpose  to  say  something  par- 
ticular. I  wonder  if  she  has  done  so?  Of  course  if 
she  has,  she  wants  to  get  rid  of  me.  That  is  her  object. 
But  she  is  mistaken  if  she  thinks  that  I  shall  gratify  her. 
I  think  I  owe  it  to  myself  to  make  sure  exactly  what  is 
going  on.  I  wih1  certainly  stay.  That  will  show  her  I 
am  on  the  watch." 

During  this  protracted,  though  silent,  colloquy,  Serena 
had  remained  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  room.  Now 
she  rustled  back  to  the  window,  held  aside  the  lace  curtain 
and  resumed  her  contemplation  of  the  fog-enshrouded 
Green.  Good  George  Lovegrove  gazed  after  her  in  deep 
dejection  and  perplexity.  Somebody,  it  appeared  to  him, 
had  been  extremely  unreasonable  and  disagreeable;  but 
who  that  somebody  was  for  the  very  life  of  him  he  could 
not  tell.  The  wife  was  out  of  the  question ;  while  to  sup- 


THE    FAR    HORIZON  177 

idf '• 

pose  it  Serena  approached  high  treason.  Still  he  was  very 
sure  it  could  not  be  that  most  scrupulously  courteous  per- 
sonage Dominic  Iglesias.  There  remained  himself — *'  Yet 
I  wouldn't  knowingly  vex  a  fly,"  he  thought,  "  and  as  to 
vexing  Serena!  Sometimes  one  does  wish  females  were 
not  quite  so  sensitive." 

]V[iss  Hart,  meanwhile,  had  taken  the  unaccustomed  post 
of  honour  beside  her  hostess  upon  the  sofa.  She  was  en- 
joying herself  immensely.  She  had  a  conviction  of  march- 
ing to  victory. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  Mrs.  Lovegrove,  dear  Peachie  Porcher 
asked  me  just  to  run  across,  as  she  has  missed  your  last  two 
afternoons,  lest  you  should  think  her  neglectful.  I  am 
well  aware  I  am  but  a  poor  substitute  for  Peachie — no 
compliments  now,  Mr.  Lovegrove,  if  you  please !  " 

"  Mrs.  Porcher  is  in  good  health,  I  trust " — this  from 
Rhoda. 

"  At  present,  yes,  I  am  happy  to  say,  thank  you.  But 
how  long  it  will  continue,"  Miss  Hart  spoke  impressively — 
"  at  this  rate  I  am  sure  I  cannot  tell." 

"  Indeed,"  George  Lovegrove  inquired  anxiously. 
"  You  don't  tell  me  so !  Nothing  wrong,  I  trust." 

"  Well,  as  I  always  tell  her,  her  sense  of  duty  amounts 
almost  to  a  fault — so  unselfish,  so  conscientious,  it  brings 
tears  to  my  eyes  often  at  times.  I  hope  it  is  appreciated 
in  the  right  quarter — I  do  hope  that,  Mr.  Lovegrove." 

Here  Rhoda's  bosom  heaved  with  a  generous  sigh. 

"  There  is  much  ingratitude  in  the  world,  Miss  Hart,  I 
fear,"  she  said  pensively. 

Her  husband  looked  at  her  in  an  anguish  of  apology — 
whether  for  his  own  sins  or  those  of  others  he  knew  not 
exactly. 

"  So  there  is,  Mrs.  Lovegrove,"  Eliza  responded  warmly. 
"  And  nobody  is  a  more  speaking  example  of  that  truth 
than  Peachie  Porcher.  When  I  think  of  all  she  went 


178  THE    FAR    HORIZON 

through  during  her  married  life,  and  yet  so  unsuspicious, 
so  trusting — it  is  enough  to  melt  an  iceberg,  that  it  is, 
Mrs.  Lovegrove.  Now,  as  I  was  saying  to  her  only  this 
morning,  *  You  must  study  yourself  a  little,  get  out  in  the 
air,  take  a  peep  at  the  shops,  and  have  some  amusement.' 
But  her  reply  is  always  the  same. — '  No,  Liz,  dear,'  she 
says,  *  not  at  the  present  time,  thank  you.  I  know  the 
duties  of  my  position  as  mistress  of  Cedar  Lodge.  When 
any  one  of  our  gentlemen  is  ailing,  my  place  is  at  home. 
I  must  remain  in  the  house  in  case  of  a  sudden  emergency. 
I  should  not  have  an  easy  moment  away  from  the  place,' 
she  says." 

Miss  Hart  looked  around  upon  her  hearers  demanding 
approbation  and  sympathy. 

"  Very  affecting,  is  it  not?  "  she  inquired. 

After  a  moment's  embarrassed  silen-ce,  George  Lovegrove 
murmured  a  suitable,  if  timid,  assent.  His  wife  assumed 
a  bolder  attitude.  Goaded  by  provocations  recently  re- 
ceived, she  went  over — temporarily — to  the  side  of  the 
enemy. 

"  I  always  have  maintained  Mrs.  Porcher  was  full  of 
heart,"  she  declared,  throwing  the  assertion  across  the 
room,  much  as  though  it  was  a  stone,  in  the  direction  of 
the  figure  at  the  window. 

Serena  drew  herself  up  with  a  rustle. 

"  I  wonder  exactly  what  Rhoda  means  by  that  ?  "  she 
commented  inwardly.  "  I  think  it  very  odd.  Of  course, 
she  must  have  some  meaning,  and  I  wonder  what  it  is.  She 
seems  to  be  changing  her  line.  I  am  glad  I  stayed.  I 
am  afraid  Rhoda  is  rather  deceitful.  I  excuse  George  of 
deceit.  I  believe  George  to  be  true;  but  he  is  sadly  in- 
fluenced by  Rhoda.  I  am  rather  sorry  for  George." 

"  So  she  is,  Mrs.  Lovegrove,"  Eliza  Hart  resumed — 
"  Peachie's  too  full  of  heart,  as  I  tell  her.  She  is  forever 
thinking  of  others  and  their  comforts.  She  grudges 


THE    FAR    HORIZON  179 

neither  time  nor  money,  does  not  Peachie.  There  is 
nothing  calculating  or  cheese-paring  about  her — not 
enough,  I  often  think.  Fish,  sweetbreads,  game,  poultry, 
and  all  of  the  very  best — where  the  profits  are  to  come  from 
with  a  bill  of  fare  like  that  passes  my  powers  of  arithmetic, 
and  so  I  point  out  to  her.  I  hope  it  is  appreciated — yes, 
I  do  hope  that,  Mr.  Lovegrove  "•  — here  the  speaker  became 
extremely  coy  and  playful.  "  A  little  bird  sometimes 
seems  to  twitter  to  me  that  it  is.  And  yet  I  am  sure  I 
don't  know.  The  members  of  your  sex  are  very  mislead- 
ing, Mr.  Lovegrove.  Do  not  perjure  yourself,  now.  You 
cannot  take  me  in.  And  a  certain  gentleman  is  very  close, 
you  know,  and  stand-offish.  It  is  not  easy  to  get  at  his 
real  sentiments,  is  it,  now?  " 

Serena  laid  back  her  ears,  so  to  speak.  "  I  was  quite 
right  to  stay,"  she  reflected  wrathfully. 

"  I  think  Mr.  Iglesias  is  unusually  considerate,  Miss 
Hart,"  George  Lovegrove  said  tentatively.  "  He  is  quite 
sensible  of  Mrs.  Porcher's  kind  attentions.  But  naturally 
he  is  very  tenacious  of  upsetting  her  household  arrange- 
ments and  giving  additional  trouble." 

"  And  then  the  position  of  a  bachelor  is  delicate,  Miss 
Hart,  you  must  admit,"  Mrs.  Lovegrove  chimed  in. 
"  That's  what  I  always  tell  Georgie.  It  may  do  all  very 
well  in  their  younger  days  to  be  unattached,  but  as  gentle- 
men get  on  in  life  they  do  need  their  own  private  establish- 
ments. I  am  sure  I  am  sorry  for  them  in  chambers,  or  even 
in  good  rooms  like  those  at  Cedar  Lodge.  For  it  is  not  the 
same  as  a  home,  Miss  Hart,  and  never  can  be.  There  must 
be  awkwardnesses  on  both  sides  at  times,  especially  when  it 
comes  to  illness." 

Then  the  great  Eliza  gathered  herself  together,  for  it 
appeared  to  her  her  forecast  had  been  just  and  that  she 
was  indeed  marching  to  victory. 

"  Yes,  there  is  no  denying  all  that,"  she  said,  "  and  I 


180  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

am  more  than  glad  you  see  it  in  that  light,  Mrs.  Love- 
grove.  Between  ourselves,  I  have  more  and  more  ever 
since  a  certain  gentleman  gave  up  work  in  the  City.  It 
would  be  premature  to  speak  freely;  but,  just  between 
friends  and  under  the  rose,  you  being  interested  in  one 
party  and  I  in  the  other,  there  can  be  no  harm  in  dropping 
a  hint  and  ascertaining  how  the  land  lies.  Of  course  if  it 
came  to  pass,  it  would  be  to  my  own  disadvantage,  for  I 
do  not  know  how  I  should  ever  bear  to  part  with  Peachie 
Porcher.  Still,  I  could  put  myself  aside,  if  I  felt  it  was 
for  her  happiness." 

"  You  do  surprise  me,"  George  Lovegrove  exclaimed. 
He  was  filled  with  consternation,  his  hair  nearly  rising  on 
his  head.  "  I  had  no  notion.  Dear  me,  you  fairly  take 
away  my  breath."  He  could  almost  have  wept.  "  To 
think  of  it !  "  he  repeated.  "  Only  to  think  of  it !  Miss 
Hart,  you  do  surprise  me." 

"  Oh !  you  must  not  run  away  with  the  notion  anything 
is  really  settled  yet,"  she  replied.  "  And  I  could  not  say 
Mrs.  Porcher  really  would,  when  it  came  to  the  point,  after 
the  experiences  she  had  in  her  first  marriage.  She  is  very 
reserved,  is  Peachie.  Still,  she  might.  And  very  for- 
tunate a  certain  gentleman  would  be  if  she  did — it  does  not 
take  more  than  half  an  eye  to  see  that." 

"  Dr.  Nevington,  please,  ma'am,"  announced  the  par- 
lourmaid, and  the  fine  clerical  voice  and  clerical  presence 
filled  all  the  room.  Thereupon  Serena  graciously  joined 
the  circle.  She  was  unusually  self-possessed  and  definite. 
She  embarked  in  a  quite  spirited  conversation  with  the 
newcomer.  And  when  Eliza  Hart,  after  a  few  pleasantries 
of  a  parochial  tendency  with  the  said  newcomer — in  whose 
favour  she  had  vacated  the  place  of  honour  upon  the  sofa 
• — rose  to  depart,  Serena  bowed  to  her  in  the  most  royally 
distant  and  superior  manner.  Her  amiability  remained  a 
constant  quantity  during  the  rest  of  the  evening;  and 


181 

if 

when  an  opportunity  occurred  of  speaking  in  private  to  her 
cousin,  she  did  so  with  the  utmost  cordiality. 

"  I  do  hope,  George,"  she  said,  "  you  will  not  think  any 
more  of  our  little  unpleasantness.  I  can  truly  say  I  never 
bear  malice.  I  own  I  was  annoyed,  for  I  felt  I  had  not 
been  quite  fairly  treated  by  Rhoda.  But,  of  course,  I 
may  have  been  mistaken.  I  am  quite  willing  to  believe  so 
and  to  let  bygones  be  bygones,  and  stay,  as  Rhoda  pressed 
me  to  do,  until  I  go  to  my  cousin,  Lady  Samuelson,  in 
December.  Of  course  it  would  be  more  convenient  to  me 
in  some  ways.  But  I  am  not  thinking  of  that.  I  am 
thinking  of  you  and  Rhoda.  I  should  not  like  to  dis- 
appoint her  by  leaving  her  when  she  wants  me  to  help 
entertain  your  friend,  Mr.  Iglesias.  Of  course,  I  cannot 
pretend  I  take  easily  to  strangers.  Mamma  was  very 
particular  whom  we  associated  with,  and  so  I  have  always 
been  unaccustomed  to  strangers,  and  I  cannot  pretend  I 
am  partial  to  making  new  acquaintances.  Still,  I  should 
be  very  sorry  to  seem  unaccommodating,  or  to  hurt  you 
and  Rhoda  by  refusing  to  stay  and  assist  you." 

"  Thank  you  truly,  Serena ;  I  am  sure  you  are  very 
kind,"  the  good  man  answered.  And  the  best,  or  the  worst, 
of  it  was  he  actually  believed  he  was  speaking  the  truth ! 


CHAPTER    XVII 

THE  easterly  wind  blew  strong  and  shattering,  bleak  and 
dreary,  against  the  windows  of  the  bedchamber  at  the  back 
of  the  house.  The  complaint  of  the  cedar  tree,  as  the 
branches  sawed  upon  one  another,  was  long-drawn  and 
loud.  These  sounds  reached  Iglesias  in  the  sitting-room, 
where  he  sat,  alone  and  unoccupied,  before  the  fire.  For 
more  than  a  week  now  he  had  been  confined  to  the  house. 
He  had  set  the  door  of  communication  between  the  two 
rooms  open,  so  as  to  gain  a  greater  sense  of  space  and 
that  he  might  take  a  little  exercise  by  walking  the  whole 
length  of  them.  The  cry  of  the  wind  and  the  moan  of  the 
sawing  branches  was  very  comfortless,  yet  he  made  no 
effort  to  shut  it  out.  To  begin  with,  he  was  so  weak  that 
it  was  too  much  trouble  to  move.  To  go  on  with,  the 
melancholy  sounds  were  not  ill-suited  to  his  present  humour. 
For  a  great  depression  was  upon  him,  a  weariness  of  spirit 
which  might  be  felt.  Out  of  doors  London  shivered, 
houses  and  sky  and  the  expanse  of  Trimmer's  Green,  with 
its  leafless  trees  and  iron  railings,  livid,  a  greyness  upon 
them  as  of  fear.  Dominic  had  no  quarrel  with  this  either. 
Indeed  it  gave  him  a  certain  bitter  satisfaction,  as  offering 
a  not  inharmonious  setting  to  his  own  thought. 

Though  not  robust  he  was  tough  and  wiry,  so  that  ill- 
ness of  such  a  nature  as  to  necessitate  his  remaining  within 
doors  was  a  new  and  trying  experience.  Crossing  Ham- 
mersmith Bridge  on  the  'bustop  ten  days  previously,  the 
chill  of  the  river  had  struck  through  him.  Yet  this,  in  all 
reasonable  probability,  would  merely  have  resulted  in  pass- 
ing physical  discomfort,  but  for  the  moral  and  spiritual 
hurt  immediately  preceding  it.  How  far  the  mind  has 

189 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  183 

jf  .__ 

power  to  cure  the  body  is  still  an  open  question.     But  that 

the  mind  can  actively  predispose  the  body  to  sickness  is 
indubitable.  To  realise  and  analyse,  in  their  several  bear- 
ings, the  causes  and  consequences  of  that  same  moral  hurt 
Iglesias'  pride  and  loyalty  alike  refused.  In  respect  of 
them  he  set  his  jaw  and  sternly  averted  his  eyes.  Yet, 
though  the  will  may  be  steady  to  resist  and  to  abstain,  the 
tides  of  feeling  ebb  and  flow,  contemptuous  of  control  as 
those  of  some  unquiet  sea.  They  defy  volition,  notably  in 
illness  when  vitality  is  low.  Refuse  as  he  might  to  go  be- 
hind the  fact,  it  remained  indisputable  that  the  Lady  of 
the  Windswept  Dust  had  given  him  his  dismissal.  Out  of 
his  daily  life  a  joy  had  gone,  a  constant  object  of  thought 
and  interest.  Out  of  his  heart  a  living  presence  had  gone, 
leaving  a  void  more  harsh  than  death.  And  all  this  had 
happened  in  a  connection  peculiarly  painful  and  distaste- 
ful to  him;  so  that  it  was  as  though  a  foul  miasma  had 
arisen,  and,  drifting  across  the  face  of  his  fair  friendship, 
distorted  its  proportions,  rendering  all  his  memories  of  it 
suspect.  Further,  in  this  discrediting  of  friendship  his 
hope  of  the  discovery  of  that  language  of  the  soul  which 
can  alone  effect  a  true  adjustment  between  the  exterior  and 
interior  life  had  suffered  violent  eclipse.  He  had  been 
thrown  back  into  the  prison-house  of  the  obvious  and  the 
material.  The  world  had  lost  its  poetry,  had  grown  nar- 
row, sordid,  dim,  and  gross.  His  own  life  had  grown  more 
than  ever  barren  of  opportunity  and  inept.  In  short, 
Dominic  Iglesias  had  lost  sight  of  the  far  horizon  which 
is  touched  by  the  glory  of  the  Uncreated  Light ;  and,  so 
doing,  dwelt  in  outer  darkness  once  again,  infinitely 
desolate. 

On  the  afternoon  in  question  he  had  reached  the  nadir 
of  disillusion  and  distrust.  He  leaned  back  in  the  red- 
covered  chair,  his  shapely  hands  lying,  palms  downward, 
along  the  two  arms  of  it,  his  vision  of  the  room  and  its 


184  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

familiar  contents  blurred  by  unshed  tears.  It  was  an  hour 
of  supreme  discouragement. 

"  Nothing  is  left,"  he  said,  half  aloud,  "  nothing.  The 
future  is  as  blank  as  the  present.  If  this  is  to  grow  old, 
then  indeed  those  whom  the  gods  love  have  need  enough  to 
die  young." 

For  a  space  he  listened  to  the  shattering  wind  as  it  cried 
in  the  window-sashes,  to  the  branches  of  the  cedar  sawing 
upon  one  another  and  moaning  as  in  self-inflicted  pain. 
Newsboys  were  calling  early  specials.  The  coarse  cockney 
voices,  strangled  by  the  easterly  blast,  met  and  crossed  one 
another,  died  away  in  a  side  street,  to  emerge  again  and 
again  encounter.  Such  words  as  were  distinguishable 
seemed  of  sinister  import,  agitating  to  the  imagination. 
Then  de  Courcy  Smyth's  shuffling  footsteps  crossed  the 
floor  of  the  room  overhead.  The  wire-wove  mattress  of 
his  bed  creaked  as  he  sat  on  the  edge  of  it,  kicking  off  his 
slippers  and  putting  on  walking  boots,  as  might  be  gath- 
ered from  floppings  followed  by  an  equally  nerveless  but 
heavier  tread.  A  door  opened,  closed,  and  the  footsteps 
descended  the  stairs.  On  the  landing  without  they  paused 
for  an  appreciable  time ;  but,  to  Mr.  Iglesias'  great  relief, 
deciding  against  attempt  of  entry,  continued  their  cheer- 
less progress  down  to  the  hall  below.  Yet,  just  now 
Iglesias  could  have  found  it  in  his  heart  to  envy  the  man, 
notwithstanding  his  unsavouriness  of  attitude  and  aspect. 
For  in  him  ambition  still  stirred.  He  had  still  definite 
work  to  do,  and  the  hope  of  eventual  fame  to  support  him 
during  the  doing  of  it ;  had  the  triumph  of  the  theatre,  the 
applause  of  an  audience  in  the  white  heat  of  enthusiasm  to 
dream  of  and  strive  after. 

"  But,  for  me,  nothing,"  Iglesias  repeated,  "  whether 
vital  as  of  those  far-away  southern  battle-fields,  or  ficti- 
tious and  close  at  hand  as  of  the  stage.  Not  even  the  sting 
of  poverty  to  whet  appetite  and  give  an  edge  to  bodily 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  185 


hunger.  Nothing,  either  of  fear  or  of  hope.  The  measure 
of  my  obscurity  is  the  measure  of  my  immunity  from 
change  of  fortune,  bad  or  good.  I  am  worthless  even  as 
food  for  powder.  Danger  herself  will  have  none  of  me, 
and  passes  me  by." 

With  that  he  raised  his  hands  and  let  them  drop  despair- 
ingly along  the  arms  of  the  chair  again,  while  the  unbidden 
tears  overflowed.  For  a  minute  or  more  he  remained  thus, 
weeping  silently  with  bowed  head.  Then,  a  movement  of 
self-contempt  taking  him,  he  regained  his  calm,  sat  upright, 
brushing  away  the  tears. 

And  it  was  as  though,  in  thus  regaining  a  clearer  phys- 
ical vision,  he  regained  a  clearer  mental  vision  likewise. 
Purpose  asserted  itself  as  against  mere  blind  acquiescence. 
Iglesias  looked  up,  demanding  as  of  right  some  measure  of 
consolation,  some  object  promising  help.  So  doing,  his 
eyes  sought  a  certain  carven  oak  panel  set  in  an  ebony 
frame.  From  his  earliest  childhood  he  remembered  it,  for 
it  had  hung  in  his  mother's  bedchamber;  and  in  those  far- 
away years,  while  she  still  had  sufficient  force  to  disregard 
opposition  and  make  an  open  practice  of  prayer,  she  had 
kneeled  before  it  when  engaged  in  her  devotions.  Waking 
at  night — when  as  a  baby-child,  during  his  father's  long 
absences,  he  slept  in  her  room — Dominic  had  often  seen  the 
delicate  kneeling  figure,  wrapped  in  some  loose-flowing  gar- 
ment, the  hands  outstretched  in  supplication.  Even  then, 
in  the  first  push  of  conscious  intelligence,  the  carven 
picture  had  spoken  to  him  as  something  masterful,  for  all 
its  rigidity  and  sadness,  and  very  strong  to  help.  It  had 
given  him  a  sense  of  protection  and  security,  so  that  his 
little  soul  was  satisfied;  and  he  could  go  to  sleep  again  in 
peace,  sure  that  his  mother  was  in  safe  keeping  while — as 
he  said — she  "  talked  to  it."  In  the  long  interval  which 
had  elapsed  since  then  he  had  lost  touch  with  the  spirit  of 
it,  though  preserving  it  as  among  the  most  cherished  of 


186  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

his  family  relics.  His  appreciation  of  it  had  become 
aesthetic  rather  than  religious.  But  now,  as  it  hung  on 
the  dimly  white  wall  above  his  writing-table  on  the  window 
side  of  the  fireplace,  the  dreary  London  afternoon  light 
took  the  surface  of  it,  bringing  all  the  details  of  the  scene 
into  prominence.  Suddenly,  unexpectedly,  the  old  power 
declared  itself.  The  picture  came  alive  as  to  the  inten- 
tion and  meaning  of  it.  It  spoke  to  him  once  again,  and 
that  with  no  uncertain  voice. 

Three  tall  narrow  crosses  uplifted  against  a  cloudless 
sky.  Below,  a  multitude  of  men,  women,  and  horses, 
carved  in  varying  degrees  of  relief.  Some  starting  into 
bold  defmiteness,  some  barely  indicated  and  as  though  im- 
prisoned in  the  thickness  of  the  wood ;  but  all  grave,  ener- 
getic, and,  whether  inspired  by  compassion  or  by  mockery, 
fierce.  These  grouped  around  a  great  web  of  linen — up- 
held by  some  of  them  at  the  four  corners,  hammock-wise, 
high  at  the  head,  low  at  the  foot — wherein  lay  the  corpse 
of  a  man  in  the  very  flower  of  his  age,  of  heroic  propor- 
tions, spare  yet  muscular,  long  and  finely  angular  of  limb, 
the  articulations  notably  slender,  the  head  borne  proudly 
though  bent,  the  features  severely  beautiful,  the  whole 
virile,  indomitable  even  in  the  physical  abjection  of  death. 

In  this  Spanish  presentment  of  the  closing  act  of  the 
Divine  Tragedy  the  sensuous  pagan  element,  which  mars 
too  many  otherwise  admirable  works  of  religious  art,  was 
absent.  Its  appeal  was  to  the  intellect  rather  than  to  the 
emotions,  inculcating  effort  rather  than  inviting  any  senti- 
mental passion  of  pity.  Its  message  was  that  of  conquest, 
of  iron  self-mastery  and  self-restraint.  This  was  bracing 
and  courage-begetting  even  when  viewed  from  the  exclu- 
sively artistic  standpoint.  But  now  not  merely  the  pre- 
sentment of  the  event  held  Iglesias'  attention,  but  the  event 
presented,  the  thing  in  itself.  His  heart  and  intelligence 
grasped  the  meaning  of  it,  not  only  as  a  matter  of  supreme 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  187 

//p 

historic  interest  in  view  of  its  astonishing  influence  upon 

human  development  during  the  last  two  thousand  years ; 
but  as  an  ever-present  reality,  as  an  exposition  of  the 
Absolute,  of  that  which  everlastingly  has  been,  and  ever- 
lastingly will  be,  and  hence  of  incalculable  and  immediate 
importance  to  himself.  It  spoke  to  him  of  no  vague  and 
general  truth ;  but  of  a  truth  intimate  and  individual,  com- 
ing to  him  as  the  call  to  enter  upon  a  personal  inheritance. 
Of  obedience  to  the  dictates  of  natural  religion,  and  faith- 
ful practice  of  the  pieties  of  it,  Dominic  Iglesias  had,  all 
his  life,  been  a  remarkable  if  unconscious  exponent.  But 
this  awakening  of  the  spirit  to  the  actualities  of  super- 
natural religion,  this  crossing  of  that  dark  immensity  of 
space  which  appears  to  interpose  between  Almighty  God 
and  the  mind  of  man,  was  new  to  him.  He  had  sought  a 
language  of  the  soul  which  might  effect  an  adjustment 
between  the  exterior  and  interior  life.  Here,  in  the  Word 
made  Flesh,  with  reverent  amazement  he  found  it.  He  had 
sought  it  through  the  instrumentality  of  the  things  of 
time  and  sense;  and  they,  though  full  with  promise,  had 
proved  illusory.  He  had  fixed  his  hope  on  relation  to  the 
creature.  But  here,  all  the  while,  close  beside  him,  waiting 
till  the  scales  should  fall  from  his  eyes  and  he  should  see 
and  understand,  had  stood  the  Creator.  Fair,  very  fair — 
while  it  lasted — was  human  friendship.  But  here,  had  he 
but  strength  and  daring  to  meet  it,  was  a  friendship  in- 
finitely fairer,  immutable,  eternal — namely,  the  friendship 
of  Almighty  God. 

The  easterly  wind  still  cried  in  the  window-sashes,  harsh 
and  shattering.  The  branches  of  the  exiled  cedar  tree 
sawed  upon  one  another,  uttering  their  long-drawn  com- 
plaint. The  voices  of  the  newsboys,  hoarse  and  raucous, 
shouting  their  sinister  message,  still  came  and  went.  The 
livid  light  of  the  winter  afternoon  grew  more  dreary  as  it 
sank  into,  and  was  absorbed  by,  the  deepening  dusk.  But 


188  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

to  Dominic  Iglesias  these  things  had  ceased  to  matter. 
Dazzled,  enchanted,  confounded,  alike  by  the  magnitude 
and  the  simplicity  of  his  discovery,  he  remained  gazing  at 
the  carven  panel ;  gazing  through  and  beyond  it  to  that  of 
which  it  was  the  medium  and  symbol,  gazing,  clear-eyed 
and  fearlessly,  away  to  the  far  horizon  radiant  with  the 
surpassing  glory  of  the  Uncreated  Light. 


CHAPTER    XVIII 

THE  Black  Week  had  just  ended;  but  the  humiliation  of  it 
lay,  as  a  dead  weight,  upon  the  heart  of  London.  Three 
crushing  reverses  in  eight  days — Stormberg,  Magersfon- 
tein,  and  finally  Colenso !  There  was  no  getting  rid  of  the 
facts,  or  the  meaning  of  them  in  respect  of  incapacity, 
blundering,  and  reckless  waste  of  personal  valour.  It  was 
a  sorry  tale,  and  one  over  which  Europe  at  large  chuckled. 
It  has  been  universally  assumed  that  the  English  are  a 
serious  nation.  This  is  an  error.  They  are  not  serious, 
but  indifferent,  a  nation  of  individualists,  each  mainly,  not 
to  say  exclusively,  occupied  with  his  own  private  affairs. 
With  the  vast  majority  unity  of  sentiment  is  suspect,  and 
patriotism  a  passive  rather  than  an  active  virtue.  But  at 
this  juncture,  under  the  stress  of  repeated  disaster,  unity 
of  sentiment  and  patriotism — that  is,  a  sense  of  the  national 
honour  and  necessity  for  the  vindication  of  it — became 
strongly  evident.  London  was  profoundly  and  visibly 
moved.  Not  with  excitement — that  came  later,  manifest- 
ing itself  in  hysterical  outcries  of  relief — but  with  a  grim 
anger  and  sadness  of  astonishment  that  such  things  could 
indeed  be.  Strangers,  passing  in  the  street,  looked  one 
another  in  the  eyes  questioningly,  a  common  anxiety  forg- 
ing unexpected  bonds  of  kinship.  The  town  was  curiously 
hushed,  as  though  listening,  always  listening,  for  those 
ugly  messages  rushed  so  perpetually  by  cable  from  over- 
seas. Men's  faces  were  strained  by  the  effort  to  hear,  and, 
hearing,  to  judge  justly  the  extent  and  the  bearings  of 
both  national  and  individual  damage.  Already  mourning 
struck  a  sensible  note  in  women's  dress.  If  the  Little  Eng- 
lander  capered,  he  was  careful  to  do  so  at  home,  or  in  meet- 

189 


190  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

ing-places  frequented  only  by  persons  likeminded  with  him- 
self. It  may  be  questioned  whether  he  is  not  ever  most 
courageous  when  under  covert  thus ;  since  shooting  out  of 
windows  or  from  behind  hedges  would  appear  to  be  his  in- 
herent, and  not  particularly  gallant,  notion  of  sport.  The 
newsboys  alone  openly  and  blatantly  rejoiced,  dominating 
the  situation — as  on  Derby  Day  or  Boat-race  Night — and 
putting  a  gilded  dome  to  the  horror  by  yelling  highly 
seasoned  lies  when  truth  proved  insufficiently  evil  to  stimu- 
late custom  to  the  extent  of  his  desires.  Depression,  as 
of  storm,  permeated  the  social  atmosphere.  Churches  were 
full,  places  of  amusement  comparatively  empty.  To 
laugh  seemed  an  indiscretion  trenching  on  indecency. 

Amid  surrounding  bravery  of  imperial  purple,  cream- 
colour,  and  gold,  Poppy  St.  John  sat  at  the  extreme  end 
of  the  first  row  of  balcony  stalls  in  the  newly  opened 
Twentieth  Century  Theatre.  This  was  a  calm  and  se- 
cluded spot,  since  the  partition,  dividing  off  the  boxes, 
flanked  it  on  the  right.  Partly  on  this  account  Poppy  had 
selected  it.  Partly,  also,  because  it  afforded  an  excellent 
view  of  the  left  of  the  stage;  and  it  was  on  the  left — 
looking  from  the  body  of  the  house — that  the  principal 
action  of  the  piece,  as  far  as  Dot  Parris's  part  was  con- 
cerned, took  place.  Poppy  was  unattended.  She  wanted 
an  evening's  rest,  an  evening  free  of  conversation  and 
effort ;  but  she  wanted  something  to  look  at,  too,  something 
affording  just  sufficient  emotional  stimulus  to  keep  impor- 
tunate thought  at  bay.  This  the  theatre  supplied.  It  had 
ceased  long  ago  to  tire  her.  She  knew  the  ways  of  it  from 
both  sides  of  the  footlights  uncommonly  well,  and  loved 
them  indifferently  much.  She  was  a  shrewd  and  cynical 
critic.  Nevertheless,  to  go  to  the  play  was  a  sort  of  going 
home  to  her — a  home  neither  very  socially  nor  morally 
exalted,  perhaps,  but  one  offering  the  advantages  of  per- 
fect familiarity. 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  191 

Huddled  in  a  black  velvet  fur-lined  sacque,  reaching  to 
her  feet  and  abundantly  trimmed  with  jet  embroidery  and 
black  lace,  she  settled  herself  in  her  place.  The  soft  fur 
was  cosey  against  her  bare  neck.  She  felt  chilly.  Later 
she  might  peel,  thereby  exhibiting  the  values  of  the  rest 
of  her  costume.  But  it  was  not  worth  while  to  do  so  yet. 
The  first  piece  was  over,  but  the  house  was  still  a  poor  one. 
It  might  fill  up.  She  hoped  it  would  for  Dot's  sake;  for 
few  things  are  more  disheartening  than  to  play  to  empty 
benches.  But,  at  present,  the  audience  was  altogether  too 
sparse  for  it  to  be  worth  while  to  sacrifice  comfort  to  effect. 
In  point  of  fact,  Poppy  was  cold  from  sheer  fatigue.  For 
the  last  month,  to  employ  her  own  rather  variegated 
phraseology,  she  had  racketed,  had  persistently  and  per- 
tinaciously been  "  going  the  pace."  No  doubt  they  do 
these  things  better  in  France ;  yet,  as  she  reflected,  provided 
you  are  unhampered  by  prejudice,  are  fairly  in  funds  and 
know  the  ropes,  even  grimy  fog-bound  London  is,  in  this 
particular  connection,  by  no  means  to  be  sneezed  at.  And 
truly  Poppy's  autobiography  during  the  said  month  would 
have  made  extremely  merry  reading,  amounting  in  some 
aspects  to  a  positive  classic — though  of  the  kind  hardly 
suited  as  a  basis  of  instruction  for  the  pupils  of  a  young 
ladies'  school.  Setting  aside  adventures  of  a  more  ques- 
tionable character,  a  positively  alarming  good  luck  had 
pursued  her,  everything  she  touched  turning  to  gold. 
Even  in  this  hour  of  financial  depression  the  market  fa- 
voured her  both  in  buying  and  selling.  If  she  put  money 
on  a  horse,  that  horse  was  sure  to  win.  If  she  played 
cards — and  she  had  played  pretty  constantly- — she  inevi- 
tably plundered  her  opponents.  This  last  alone,  of  all 
her  doubtful  doings,  really  troubled  her;  for  her  oppo- 
nents had  frequently  been  youthful,  and  it  was  con- 
trary to  Poppy's  principles  to  pluck  the  but  half-fledged 
chick. 


192  THE    FAR     HORIZON 

Barring  this  solitary  deflection  from  her  somewhat 
latitudinarian  code  of  ethics,  she  had,  on  the  face  of  it, 
ample  cause  for  self-congratulation.  Never  had  she  been 
more  gaily  audacious  in  word  or  deed.  Never  had  she  been 
better  company,  keeping  her  audience — an  almost  exclu- 
sively masculine  one — in  a  roar,  all  the  louder  perhaps  be- 
cause of  inward  defiance  of  the  news  from  over-seas,  the 
humiliation  of  which  had  now  culminated  in  the  disasters 
of  the  Black  Week.  Flame  only  shows  the  brighter  for  a 
sombre  background.  And  Poppy,  during  this  ill-starred 
period,  had  been  as  a  flame  to  her  admirers  and  associates — 
a  fitful,  prankish  flame,  full  of  provocation  and  bedevil- 
ment,  the  light  of  it  inciting  to  all  manner  of  wild  doings, 
and,  in  the  end,  not  infrequently  scorching  those  pretty 
shrewdly  who  were  over-bold  in  warming  themselves  at  the 
heat  of  it.  For  fires  of  the  sort  lighted  by  Poppy  are  not 
precisely  such  as  contribute  to  the  peace  and  security  of 
the  domestic  hearth. 

But  now  she  was  tired.  The  fun  seemed  fun  no  longer ; 
so  that,  notwithstanding  her  successes,  she  found  herself 
a  prey  to  dissatisfaction,  discontent,  and  a  disposition  to 
recall  all  the  less  happy  episodes  of  her  varied  career.  She 
yawned  quite  loudly,  as  she  laid  opera-glasses  and  play-bill 
upon  the  velvet  cushion  in  front  of  her,  and  pulled  the 
soft  fur-lined  garment  up  closer  about  her  shoulders. 

"  The  first  act's  safe  to  be  poorish  anyhow,  and  Dot 
does  not  come  on  till  just  the  end  of  it.  I  wonder  if  I 
dare  go  to  sleep  ?  "  she  asked  herself,  gently  rubbing  her 
eyes.  "  It  would  be  awfully  nice  to  forget  the  whole 
blooming  show,  past,  present,  and  to  come,  for  a  little 
while  and  plunge  in  the  waters  of  oblivion.  Oblivion  with 
a  capital  O — a  dose  of  that's  what  I  want.  Beautiful 
roomy  consolation-stakes  of  a  word,  oblivion,  if  one  could 
only  believe  in  the  existence  of  it — which,  unluckily,  some- 
how I  can't." 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  193 

Here  the  strains  of  the  orchestra  ceased.  The  lights 
were  turned  low  in  the  body  of  the  house.  The  curtain 
went  up.  As  it  did  so  a  cold  draught  drew  from  regions 
behind  the  stage,  laden  with  that  indefinable  odour  of  gas, 
glue,  humanity,  flagged  stair  and  alleyways,  paint,  canvas, 
carpentry,  and  underground  places  the  sun  never  pene- 
trates, which  haunts  the  working  part  of  every  theatre. 
Poppy  smiled  as  she  snuffed  it,  with  a  queer  mingling  of 
enjoyment  and  repulsion.  For  as  is  the  smell  of  ocean  to 
the  seafarer,  of  mother-earth  to  the  peasant,  of  incense  to 
the  priest,  so  is  the  smell  of  the  theatre  to  the  player. 
Nature  may  revolt;  but  the  spell  holds.  Once  an  actor 
always  an  actor.  The  mark  of  the  calling  is  indelible. 
Even  to  the  third  and  fourth  generation  there  is  no  rub- 
bing it  out. 

"  I  suppose  it  would  have  been  wiser  if  I  had  stuck  to 
the  profession,"  Poppy  commented  to  herself.  "  I  should 
have  been  a  leading  lady  by  now,  drawing  my  thirty  to 
forty  pounds  a  week.  I  had  the  root  of  the  matter  in  me. 
Have  it  still,  worse  luck;  for  it's  the  sort  of  root  which 
asserts  its  continued  existence  by  aching  at  times  like  that 
of  a  broken  tooth.  It  was  a  wrench  to  give  it  all  up.  But 
then  those  rotten  plays  of  his,  inflated  impossible  stuff, 
which  would  never  act — couldn't  act! — and  I  carrying 
them  round  to  manager  after  manager  and  using  all  the 
gentle  arts  I  knew  to  get  them  accepted.  Oh!  it  was  very 
dignified,  it  was  very  pretty !  And  then  his  perpetual  per- 
secutions for  money,  his  jealousy  and  spite,  and  his  fine 
feelings,  his  infernal  superiority — yes,  that  was  what 
really  did  the  job.  Flesh  and  blood  couldn't  stand  it.  To 
prove  to  a  woman,  at  three  meals  daily,  that  she  couldn't 
hold  a  candle  to  you  in  birth,  or  brains,  or  education ;  and 
then  expect  her  to  slave  for  you — and  make  it  jolly  hot 
for  her  if  she  didn't,  too — while  you  sat  at  home  and 
caressed  the  delusion  of  your  own  heaven-born  genius  in 


194  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

the  only  decently  comfortable  chair  in  the  house!  No,  it 
was  not  good  enough — that  it  was  not." 

Poppy  surveyed  the  stage,  unseeing,  her  great  eyes 
wide  with  unlovely  memories. 

"  I  wonder  what's  become  of  him,"  she  said  presently, 
"  He  hasn't  dunned  me  for  months.  Has  he  found  some 
other  poor  wretch  to  bleed?  Must  have,  I  imagine,  for 
he  always  declared  he  was  on  the  edge  of  starvation. 
Supposing  that  was  true,  though — supposing  he  has 
starved  ?  " 

Her  thought  sank  away  into  a  wordless  reverie  of  the 
dreariest  description.  Suddenly  she  roused  herself,  clench- 
ing her  hands  in  her  lap. 

"  Well,  supposing  he  has,  what  does  it  matter  to  me  ? 
If  ever  a  man  deserved  to  starve,  he  did,  vain,  lazy, 
cowardly,  self-seeking  jackal  of  a  fellow.  Why  in  the 
name  of  reason  should  I  trouble  about  him — specially 
to-night?  But  then  why,  whenever  I  am  a  bit  done, 
does  the  remembrance  of  him  always  come  back  ?  " 

Poppy  yawned  again,  staring  blankly  at  the  persons 
on  the  stage,  hearing  the  sound  of  their  speech  but  know- 
ing only  the  sense  of  her  own  thought. 

"Why?  Because  it's  like  him,  because  it's  altogether 
in  the  part.  He  was  always  on  the  watch  for  his  oppor- 
tunity; wheedling  or  blackguarding,  directly  he  saw  one 
had  no  fight  left  in  one,  till  he  got  his  own  way." 

She  leaned  forward,  resting  her  hands  on  the  Velvet 
cushion. 

"  I  am  confoundedly  tired,"  she  said.  "  All  the  came, 
it's  rather  horrible.  If  the  thing  came  over  again,  which 
mercifully  it  can't,  I  should  do  precisely  the  same  as  I 
did.  And  yet  I'm  never  quite  sure  which  of  us  was  really 
in  the  right.  And,  therefore,  I  suppose  just  as  long  as  I 
live,  whenever  I'm  dished — as  I  am  to-night — I  shall  work 


THE    PAR    HORIZON  195 

v/ 

the  whole  hateful  business  through  again,  and  the  remem- 
brance of  him  will  always  come  back." 

She  pushed  the  soft  heavy  masses  of  hair  up  from  her 
forehead  with  both  hands. 

"  In  the  main  it  was  your  own  fault,  de  Courcy  Smyth, 
and  you  know  that  it  was.  Most  women  would  not  have 
held  out  nearly  as  long  as  I  did.  So  lie  quiet.  Let  me  be. 
Starve,  if  you've  got  as  far  on  the  downgrade  as  that. 
What  do  I  care?  I  owe  you  nothing.  You  never  gave  me 
a  child.  So  starve,  if  you  must — yes,  starve,"  she  said. 

Then  she  gathered  herself  back  into  her  stall.  Her 
expression  changed. 

"  Ah,  there's  Dot.  They're  giving  her  a  reception. 
Bless  them — how  awfully  sweet!  Hurrah  for  poor  little 
Dot !  "  Her  hands  went  up  to  applaud.  And  for  the  en- 
suing ten  minutes  her  fatigue  was  forgotten.  She  became 
absorbed  in  the  action  of  the  piece. 


CHAPTER    XIX 

DOT  PARRIS  earned  a  recall  at  the  end  of  the  first  act, 
conquering  by  sheer  force  of  personality  that  gloomy  and 
half-hearted  audience.  And  Poppy  St.  John — among 
whose  many  faults  lack  of  generosity  certainly  could  not 
be  counted — standing  up,  leaned  right  out  over  the  velvet- 
cushioned  barrier  of  the  dress  circle,  crying  "  Brava ! " 
and  clapping  her  hands.  To  achieve  the  latter  demonstra- 
tion with  befitting  resonance  she  had  stripped  off  her 
gloves.  Then  as  the  lights  were  turned  up  and  the  cur- 
tain swung  into  place,  she  proceeded  to  further  strip- 
ping— namely,  that  of  her  black  embroidered  sacque,  which 
she  threw  across  the  back  of  the  empty  stall  beside  her, 
thereby  revealing  a  startling  costume.  For  she  was  clothed 
in  rose-scarlet  from  shoulder  to  foot ;  and  that  without  orna- 
ment of  any  description  to  break  up  the  daring  uniformity 
of  colour,  save  the  stiff  upstanding  black  aigrette  in  her 
hair,  tipped  with  diamond  points  which  flashed  and  glit- 
tered as  she  moved.  The  soft  mousseline-de-soie  of  which 
her  dress  was  made  swathed  her  figure,  cross-wise,  without 
apparent  fastening,  moulding  it  to  the  turn  of  the  hips. 
Thence  the  skirt  flowed  down  in  a  froth  of  rose-scarlet 
gaugings  and  fluted  frills,  which  trailed  behind  her  far. 
The  bodice  was  cut  in  a  deep  V  back  and  front,  showing 
her  bare  neck.  Her  arms  were  bare,  too,  from  the  elbow. 
Her  skin,  somewhat  sallow  by  day,  took  on  a  delicate 
ivory  whiteness  under  the  electric  light.  By  accident  or 
design  she  had  omitted  to  tinge  her  cheeks  to-night;  and 
the  even  pallor  of  her  face  emphasised  the  largeness  of  her, 
eyes — luminous,  just  now,  with  sympathy  and  enthusiasm. 
For  the  artist  in  Poppy  dominated  all  else,  vibrant  and( 

196 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  197 

v/ 

alert.  The  glamour  of  the  actor's  life  was  upon  her;  the 
seamy  side  of  it  forgotten — its  unworthy  rivalries  and 
bickerings,  the  slangings  and  prolonged  weariness  of  re- 
hearsals, its  many  disappointments,  heart-burnings,  and 
sordid  shifts.  These  were  as  though  they  were  not;  so 
that  the  stage  called  her,  even  as  the  sea  calls  one,  and 
mother-earth  another,  and  religion  a  third. 

"Pou-ah!  aren't  I  just  hot,  though!"  she  said,  half 
aloud,  as  she  flung  off  her  sacque.  "  And  what  a  change- 
ling imp  of  a  creature  Dot  is,  after  all !  An  imp  of  genius 
— well,  she's  every  right  to  that,  as  one  knows  when  one 
looks  at  James  Colthurst's  pictures.  He'd  genius.  He 
didn't  shirk  living.  My  stars !  there  was  a  man  capable 
of  adding  to  the  number  of  one's  emotions !  And  she's 
inherited  his  gifts  on  her  own  lines.  What  a  voice,  what 
gestures!  She  is  as  clever  as  she  can  stick.  Oh!  she's  a 
real  j  oy  of  a  demon  of  a  thing,  bless  her ;  and  she's  nothing 
like  come  to  her  full  strength  yet." 

Then  growing  aware  that  she  herself  and  her  vivid 
attire  were  beginning  to  attract  more  attention  than,  in 
the  interests  of  a  quiet  evening,  she  desired,  Poppy  sub- 
sided languidly  into  her  stall,  and,  picking  up  her  opera- 
glasses,  slowly  surveyed  the  occupants  of  the  house. 

There  to  begin  with  was  Bobby  Saville  in  the  second 
row  of  the  stalls,  flanked  on  either  hand  by  a  contingent 
of  followers.  His  round  dark  head  and  the  set  of  his 
tremendous  shoulders  were  unmistakable.  Saville  was 
very  far  from  being  a  model  young  man,  yet  Poppy  had 
a  soft  spot  in  her  heart  for  this  aristocratic  bruiser  and 
bravo.  His  constancy  to  Dot  Parris  was  really  touching. 
With  a  dog-like  faithfulness  and  docility,  this  otherwise 
most  turbulent  of  his  sex  had  followed  the  object  of  his 
affections  from  music-hall  to  comic  opera,  from  comic 
opera  to  the  high  places  of  legitimate  drama.  And  Dot 
^paeanwhile  remained  serenely  invulnerable,  tricking  and 


198  THE     FAR     HORIZON* 

mocking  her  high-born  heavy-weight  lover,  telling  him 
cheerfully  she  really  had  no  use  for  him,  though  his  inten- 
tions were  strictly  honourable.  Twenty-five  years  hence, 
she  added,  when  he  was  an  elderly  peer,  and  she  had  begun 
to  grow  broad  in  the  beam,  and  the  public  had  begun  to 
grow  tired  of  her,  she  might  perhaps  contemplate  the 
thraldom  of  wedlock.  But  not  yet  awhile — no,  thank  you. 
Her  art  held  all  her  love,  satisfied  all  her  passions ;  she  had 
none  to  waste  upon  mankind.  Two  days  hence,  as  Poppy 
knew,  Bobby  Saville  would  sail  for  South  Africa,  to  offer 
an  extensive  target  to  Boer  bullets.  He  had  come  to  bid 
farewell,  to-night,  to  the  obdurate  object  of  his  affections. 
And  his  followers — some  of  whom  were  also  bound  for  the 
seat  of  war — had  come  to  support  him  during  those 
pathetic  proceedings. 

In  the  boxes  she  recognised  more  than  one  woman  whose 
rank  or  riches  had  rendered  her  appearance  common  prop- 
erty through  the  medium  of  the  illustrated  papers.  But 
upon  these  social  favourites  she  bestowed  scant  scrutiny. 
To  her  they  did  not  matter,  since  she  had  a  comfortable 
conviction  that,  given  their  chances,  she  might  safely  have 
backed  herself  to  beat  them  at  their  own  game.  One  large 
and  gentle-looking  lady  did  attract  her,  by  the  innocence 
of  her  mild  eyes  set  noticeably  wide  apart,  and  by  the 
beauty  of  her  small  mouth.  Her  light  brown  hair,  touched 
with  grey,  rippled  back  from  her  low  forehead  under  a 
drapery  of  delicate  lace.  She  was  calm,  yet  there  was  an 
engaging  timidity  in  her  aspect  as  she  sheltered  behind 
the  farther  curtain  of  the  box.  Beside  her  sat  a  young 
girl,  white-clad,  deliciously  fresh  in  appearance,  an  ex- 
pression of  happy  half-shy  expectation  upon  her  charming 
face.  Behind  them,  in  the  shadow,  kindly,  handsome, 
debonnair,  stood  Lord  Fallowfeild.  His  resemblance  to 
the  large  and  gentle  lady  declared  them  brother  and  sister. 
Poppy  St.  John  watched  the  little  party  with  a  movement 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  199 

of  tenderness.  She  perceived  that  they  were  very  fond  of 
one  another;  moreover  they  were  so  delightfully  simple  in 
bearing  and  manner,  so  excellently  well-bred.  But  of  what 
was  the  pretty  maiden  so  shyly  expectant?  Of  something, 
or  somebody,  far  more  immediately  interesting  to  her  than 
players  or  play — so  Poppy  judged. 

Turning  from  the  contemplation  of  these  pleasant 
people  with  a  sigh  she  could  hardly  have  explained — even 
to  herself — Poppy  swept  the  dress  circle  with  her  opera- 
glasses.  Presently  she  paused,  and  with  a  lift  of  surprise 
looked  steadily  again,  then  let  both  hands  and  glasses  drop 
upon  her  rose-scarlet  lap.  Four  rows  up  and  back,  on 
the  far  side,  in  a  stall  next  the  stepped  gang-way,  a  man 
sat.  His  face  was  turned  away,  his  shoulder  being  towards 
her,  as  he  leaned  sideways  talking  to  the  woman  beside  him 
— a  slender,  faded,  yet  elegant  person  of  uncertain  age, 
dressed  in  fluffy  black.  In  the  seat  beyond,  also  leaning 
forward  and  taking  part  in  the  conversation,  was  another 
man  of  so  whimsical  an  appearance  as  very  nearly  to  make 
Poppy  laugh  aloud.  She  would  unquestionably  have  done 
so  had  she  been  at  leisure ;  but  she  was  not  at  leisure.  Her 
eyes  travelled  back  to  the  figure  beside  the  gang-way, 
which  intrigued  both  her  interest  and  her  memory.  Tall, 
spare,  faultlessly  dressed,  yet  with  an  effect  of  something 
exotic,  aloof,  unusual  about  him,  he  provoked  her  curiosity 
with  suggestions  of  times  and  places  quite  other  than  of 
the  present. 

"  Who  is  it  ?  "  Poppy  said  to  herself.  "  Surely  I  know 
him.  Who  the  dickens  is  it  ?  " 

The  conversation  ceased.  The  man  drew  himself  up, 
turned  his  head;  and  Poppy  gave  a  little  choking  cry,  as 
she  found  herself  staring  Dominic  Iglesias  straight  in  the 
face. 

Whether  he  recognised  her  she  did  not  know,  did  not 
want  to  know  just  yet.  For  she  needed  a  minute  or  two 


200  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

to  reckon  with  the  position.  It  was  so  wholly  unexpected. 
It  affected  her  more  deeply  than  she  could  have  anticipated. 
Not  without  amusement  she  realised  that  she  had  never, 
heretofore,  quite  bejieved  in  him  as  an  ordinary  mortal, 
who  ate  and  drank,  went  to  plays,  had  relations  with  human 
beings  other  than  herself,  and  conducted  himself  generally 
on  the  commonplace  lines  of  modern  humanity.  There- 
fore to  see  him  under  existing  circumstances  was,  in  a 
sense,  a  shock  to  her.  She  did  not  like  it.  Absurd  and 
unreasonable  though  it  undoubtedly  was  to  feel  it  so,  yet 
his  presence  here  struck  her  as  in  a  way  unseemly,  deroga- 
tory. She  had  never  thought  of  him  in  this  connection, 
and  it  took  a  little  time  to  get  accustomed  to  this  aspect  of 
him.  Then  she  discovered,  with  half -humorous  annoyance, 
that  she  was  called  upon  to  get  accustomed  to  something 
else  as  well — namely,  to  her  memories  of  the  past  month 
since  she  parted  from  him.  For  it  was  undeniable  that  the 
said  memories  took  on  a  queer  enough  complexion  in  the 
light  of  this  sudden  encounter  with  Dominic  Iglesias.  If 
an  hour  ago  they  had  been  unsatisfactory,  now  they  were 
very  near  odious.  And  that  seemed  hardly  fair.  Poppy 
turned  wicked. 

"For  what's  the  worry,  after  all?"  she  asked  herself. 
"Why  on  earth  am  I  either  disappointed  or  penitent?  Is 
he  no  better  than  the  rest  of  us,  or  am  I  no  worse?  And 
with  what  am  I  quarrelling,  in  any  case — his  being  less 
of  a  saint,  or  I  less  of  a  sinner  than  I'd  been  pleased  to 
imagine?  I'm  sure  I  don't  know." 

Instinctively  her  eyes  sought  that  kindly  worldling, 
Lord  Fallowfeild.  With  him  at  least,  as  she  reflected, 
one  knew  exactly  where  one  was,  since  his  feet  were 
always  very  much  upon  the  floor.  But  here  again  dis- 
comfiture, alas!  awaited  her.  For  another  person,  and 
evidently  a  welcome  one,  had  joined  that  pleasant  little 
party.  Standing  beside  the  large  and  gentle  lady,  speak- 


THE    FAR     HORIZON  201 

.V 

ing  quickly,  gaily,  his  face  keen  and  eager,  she  beheld 
Alaric  Barking.  Lord  Fallowfeild,  smiling,  patted  the 
young  man  affectionately  on  the  shoulder.  And  then,  with 
a  shudder  of  pain  gnawing  right  through  her,  Poppy  St. 
John,  glancing  at  the  graceful  white-clad  maiden,  under- 
stood of  whose  coming  this  one  had  been  so  sweetly  and 
gladly  expectant. 

To  the  strong  there  is  something  exhilarating  in  all 
certainty,  even  certainty  of  disaster.  And  it  was  very 
characteristic  of  Poppy  that  at  this  juncture  no  cry 
came  to  her  lips,  no  sob  to  her  throat.  She  shuddered 
that  once,  it  is  true.  But  then,  setting  her  teeth,  the 
whole  daring  of  her  nature  rose  to  the  situation,  as  a 
high-mettled  horse  rises  to  a  heavy  fence.  What  lay  on 
the  other  side  of  that  fence  she  did  not  know  as  yet,  nor 
did  she  stop  to  consider.  Desperate  though  it  looked,  she 
took  it  gallantly  without  fuss  or  funking. 

"  Well,  there's  no  ambiguity  about  this  affair,  anyhow," 
she  said  grimly.  "  Of  course  it  had  to  come  sooner  or 
later,  and  I  knew  it  had  to  come.  Well,  here  it  is,  that's 
all,  and  there's  no  use  whining.  And  that's  why  he's  been 
so  jumpy  lately:  he  had  a  bad  conscience.  Poor  old  chap, 
he  must  have  been  having  a  beastly  bad  time  of  it." 

Poppy  mused  a  little. 

"  Still,  it's  a  facer,"  she  added,  "  and  a  precious  nasty 
one,  too." 

She  stretched  herself,  shaking  back  her  head,  while  the 
diamond  points  of  her  aigrette  danced  and  glittered.  Took 
a  deep  breath,  filling  her  lungs ;  listened  to  herself,  so  to 
speak,  noting  with  satisfaction  that  neither  heart  nor  pulse 
fluttered. 

"  No  serious  damage,"  she  commented.  "  I  must  have 
the  nerves  of  a  locomotive.  Here  I  am  perfectly  sound, 
perfectly  sober,  standing  at  the  parting  of  the  ways,  be- 
tween the  dear  old  devil  of  love  and  the  deep  sea  of  friend- 


202  THE    FAR    HORIZON 

ship.  Poppy  Smyth,  my  good  soul,  you've  always  been 
rather  fatally  addicted  to  drama.  Are  you  satisfied  at 
last?  For  just  now,  heaven  knows,  you've  jolly  well  got 
your  fill  of  it." 

Then,  for  a  space,  she  sat  staring  out  into  the  house, 
thinking  hard,  intently,  yet  without  words.  The  future, 
as  she  knew,  hung  in  the  balance,  for  herself  and  for 
others;  but,  as  yet,  she  could  not  decide  into  which  scale 
to  throw  the  determining  weight.  Presently  she  looked 
steadily  at  Dominic  Iglesias.  He  was  again  engaged  in 
conversation,  trying,  with  his  air  of  fine  old-world  courtesy, 
suitably  to  entertain  his  strangely  assorted  neighbours. 
Poppy  had  an  idea  he  found  it  rather  hard  work.  She 
was  not  in  the  least  sorry.  That  faded  piece  of  feminine 
elegance,  in  fluffy  black,  bored  her.  She  entertained  a 
malicious  hope  that  the  said  piece  of  feminine  elegance 
bored  Mr.  Iglesias  also.  Finally,  with  rather  bitter  cour- 
age, she  turned  her  eyes  once  more  upon  Lord  Fallowfeild 
and  his  companions. 

"  Poor  little  girl,  poor  little  girl,"  she  said,  quite  gently, 
"  so  that's  your  heaven  on  earth,  is  it?  I'm  afraid  a 
mighty  big  crop  of  wild  oats  is  on  show  in  your  Garden 
of  Eden.  Still  to  you,  apparently,  it  is  a  blissful  place 
enough.  Only  the  question  is,  do  I  intend  to  relinquish  my 
rights  in  that  particular  property  and  make  it  over  to  you 
in  fee  simple,  my  pretty  baby,  or  do  I  not?  Shall  I  give 
it  you,  or  shall  I  keep  it  ?  For  it  is  mine  to  give  or  to  keep 
still — very  much  mine,  if  I  choose  to  make  a  fight  for  it,  I 
fancy." 

Yet  even  as  she  communed  thus  with  herself,  the  white- 
clad  maiden  and  the  other  occupants  of  the  box  became 
indistinct  and  shadowy.  The  buzz  of  conversation  in  the 
theatre  had  ceased;  so  had  the  strains  of  the  orchestra. 
The  lights  had  been  turned  low  and  the  curtain  had  risen 
upon  the  second  act. 


THE    F'AR    HORIZON  203 

y 

About  half-way  through  that  act  Poppy  St.  John  got 
up,  threw  her  velvet  sacque  over  her  arm,  and,  slipping 
past  the  three  intervening  stalls,  made  her  way  up  the 
steps  of  the  near  gang-way  to  the  swing-doors  opening 
out  to  the  couloir.  Her  movements,  though  studiously 
quiet,  were,  owing  to  the  vivid  hue  of  her  attire,  very  per- 
ceptible even  in  the  penumbra  of  the  dress  circle,  provoking 
attention  and  smothered  comment.  The  lady  in  fluffy 
black,  for  example,  followed  her  with  glances  of  undis- 
guised and  condemnatory  interest,  finally  calling  the  at- 
tention of  both  her  cavaliers  to  the  progress  of  this  glowing 
figure. 

The  New  Century  Theatre  is  one  of  those  enterprises  of 
trans-Atlantic  origin,  undertaken  with  the  praiseworthy 
and  disinterested  object  of  teaching  the  Old  World  "  how 
to  do  it,"  and  is  built  and  furnished  regardless  of  expense. 
The  couloirs  are  wide,  lofty,  richly  carpeted ;  the  walls  of 
them  encrusted  with  pale  highly  polished  marbles,  pilasters 
of  which,  with  heavily  gilded  capitals,  flank  vast  panels 
of  looking-glass.  The  moulded  ceilings  are  studded  with 
electric  lights,  the  glare  of  which  is  agreeably  softened  by 
pineapple-shaped  globes  of  crystal  glass.  The  scheme  of 
colour,  ranging  from  imperial  purple  through  crimson 
and  rose-pink  to  softest  flesh  tints,  formed  an  harmonious 
setting  to  the  rose-scarlet  of  Poppy's  dress,  with  its  froth 
of  trailing  frills  and  flounces,  as  she  stood  discoursing  to 
a  smart,  black-gowned,  white-aproned  box-keeper. 

"  You  understand,  fourth  row  on  the  left,  next  the 
gang-way?  Tell  him  a  lady  wishes  particularly  to  speak 
to  him  between  the  acts.  Then  bring  him  to  me  here." 

"  Yes,  madam,  I  quite  understand,"  the  young  person 
replied,  with  much  intelligence,  scenting  something  in  the 
shape  of  an  adventure. 

Poppy  moved  across  and  sat  down  on  one  of  the  wide 
divans,  and  so  doing  began  to  know,  once  more,  how  very 


204  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

tired  she  was.  A  new  tiredness  seemed,  indeed,  to  have 
been  added  to  the  original  one.  That  first  was,  at  worst, 
bored  and  irritable.  This  was  of  a  different,  a  more  sad 
and  intimate  character. 

"  I  feel  as  if  I  had  been  beaten  all  over,"  she  said  to 
herself.  "Well,  perhaps  that's  just  what  it  is.  I  have 
been  beaten.  I  wish  I  could  sleep.  Oh !  dear,  oh !  dear,  how 
I  wish  I  could  sleep." 

Her  thought  fell  away  into  the  vague,  the  inarticulate, 
though  she  did  not  sleep.  Still  there  was  a  temporary 
suspension  of  volition,  of  conscious  mental  activity,  which, 
in  a  degree,  rested  her.  Persons,  passing  now  and  again, 
looked  with  curiosity  at  the  brilliant  figure,  and  inscrutable 
eyes  in  the  dead-white  face.  The  smart  box-keeper,  moved 
by  some  instinct  of  pity,  came  back  more  than  once,  finally 
offering  one  of  those  unwholesome-looking  cups  of  coffee 
and  boxes  of  chocolate  of  which  so  few  have  the  requisite 
audacity  to  partake.  Poppy  roused  herself  sufficiently  to 
reject  these  terrible  delicacies,  while  smiling  at  the  con- 
veyor of  them.  Then  she  relapsed  into  the  vague  again, 
and  waited,  just  waited. 

"  There's  the  end  of  the  act,  madam,"  the  young  woman 
remarked  at  last  encouragingly. 

"  All  right,"  Poppy  answered.  "  Go  straight  away  and 
bring  the  gentleman  here  to  me.  I'm  in  a  hurry.  I  want 
to  get  home." 

The  glass  doors  of  the  exits  swished  back  and  forth, 
letting  out  the  confused  stir  and  murmur  of  the  house,  let- 
ting out  a  crowd  of  men  as  well.  And  the  aspect  the 
said  crowd  presented  to  Poppy's  overstrained  nerves  and 
exalted  sensibility  was  repulsive.  For  it  suggested  to  her 
a  flight  of  gigantic  black  locusts,  strong-jawed,  pink- 
faced,  and  white-breasted,  driven  forth  by  a  common 
hunger,  rather  cruelly  active  and  intent.  Her  sense  of 
humour  was  in  abeyance,  as  was  her  usually  triumphant 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  205 

./ 

common  sense;  so  that  her  thought,  going  behind  appear- 
ances and  the  sane  interpretation  of  them,  declined  to  that 
fundamental  region  in  which  the  root  laws  of  animal  life 
become  hideously  bare  and  distinct.  Out  of  the  deep 
places  of  her  own  womanhood  a  hatred  towards  this  crowd 
of  men  arose;  that  secular  enmity  which  exists  between 
the  -sexes  asserting  itself  and,  for  the  time  being,  obscuring 
both  reason  and  justice.  For  upon  what,  as  she  asked 
herself  bitterly,  when  all  is  said  and  done,  do  these  male 
human  locusts  pasture,  save  on  the  souls  and  bodies  of 
women,  finding  a  garden  before  them,  and,  too  often,  leav- 
ing but  a  desert  behind?  Sex  as  sex  became  abhorrent  to 
her,  its  penalties  unpardonable,  its  pleasures  as  loathsome 
as  its  sins. 

But  from  the  black-coated  throng  the  trim  figure  of 
the  box-keeper  just  then  detached  itself;  and  a  moment 
later  Poppy,  looking  up,  beheld  Dominic  Iglesias  standing 
before  her. 


CHAPTER    XX 

"  You  sent  for  me,  so  I  have  come,"  Iglesias  said,  for 
Poppy  St.  John,  usually  so  voluble,  just  now  appeared 
speechless. 

From  the  moment  he  had  become  aware  of  her  presence 
in  the  theatre,  Dominic  had  been  sensible  that  she  presented 
herself  under  a  new  aspect.  Of  the  many  different  Poppys 
he  had  seen,  this  was  by  far  the  most  powerful  and  dra- 
matic. She  stood  out  from  the  rest  of  the  audience  as 
some  splendid  tropic  flower  stands  out  from  a  thick-set 
mass  of  foliage,  conspicuous  in  form  and  colour  and  in 
promise.  There  were  handsome  women,  smart  women, 
beautifully  dressed  women  in  plenty,  but  Poppy  did  not 
shade  in  with  all  these,  making  but  part  of  a  general 
effect.  She  remained  unique,  solitary ;  and  this  not  merely 
on  account  of  her  vivid  raiment.  The  effect  of  her  told 
upon  the  mind  quite  as  much  as  upon  the  sight.  Yet  she 
did  not  look  out  of  place.  She  looked,  indeed,  preem- 
inently at  home.  Out  of  doors,  in  the  country  sunshine, 
she  had  struck  Dominic  as  a  slight  creature,  unreal  and 
fictitious.  Here,  amid  highly  artificial  and  conventional 
surroundings,  she  seemed  to  him  the  most  natural  and  vital 
being  present,  retaining  the  completeness  of  her  individual- 
ity, the  energy  and  mystery  of  it  alike,  almost  aggressively 
evident  and  untouched.  Iglesias  ceased  to  consider  her  in 
relation  to  his  and  her  broken  friendship,  or  in  relation  to 
that  which  he  so  reluctantly  divined  of  her  private  life. 
He  contemplated  her  in  herself,  finding  an  element  of 
things  primitive  in  her,  which  commanded  his  admiration, 
though  it  failed,  so  far,  to  touch  his  heart.  And  if  this 
was  the  impression  he  received  seeing  her  at  a  comparative 

SOS 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  207 

distance,  that  impression  was  greatly  intensified  seeing  her 
now  at  close  quarters.  The  contrast  between  the  subtle 
softness  and  the  flare — as  of  a  conflagration — of  her  dress, 
the  weariness  of  her  attitude,  and  the  unfathomable  melan- 
choly of  her  eyes,  stirred  him  profoundly. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered  quietly,  almost  coldly,  "  I  know 
I  s£nt.  This  was  about  the  last  place  I  should  have  ex- 
pected to  run  across  you.  I  flattered  myself  I  was  safe 
enough  here.  I  didn't  wish  to  meet  you  one  little  bit. 
Still,  when  I  did  see  you,  I  wanted  you.  You're  the  most 
plaguey  impossible  person  to  rid  oneself  of  somehow  " — 
her  voice  and  manner  softened  a  little — "  so  I  sent  for  you. 
I  don't  know  why,  because  now  I've  got  you  I  seem  to  have 
changed  my  mind.  I  have  nothing  to  say." 

"  I  can  easily  go,"  Iglesias  remarked  gravely. 

"  No,  no,  no,"  she  replied,  "  why  should  you  hurry  ? 
I'm  sure  those  two  freaks  you're  herding — the  beetle  turned 
hind-side  before  and  the  withered  leaf — can't  be  frantically 
interesting.  And  I  like  to  look  at  you.  I  never  saw  you 
before  in  evening  dress,  and  you're  more  grand  seigneur 
than  ever.  But  something's  happened  to  you.  I  can't 
tell  off-hand  what  it  is,  whether  you've  come  on  or  gone 
back.  But  you're  altered." 

"  I  have  had  an  illness,"  Iglesias  said  simply ;  "  and  I 
have  been  very  unhappy." 

"  Neither  of  those  are  good  enough,"  Poppy  answered. 
"  The  alteration  is  right  inside  you,  in  your  soul.  But 
you're  well  again  now?  "  she  added. 

"  Yes,  I  am  well  again  now." 

"  And  you're  no  longer  unhappy  ?  " 

"  No,"  he  said.  "  I  am  sad,  for  life  is  sad ;  but  I  am 
no  longer  unhappy." 

"  That's  a  nice  distinction,"  Poppy  put  in,  with  a  rather 
scornful  inflection.  "What's  cured  your  unhappiness? 
Not  an  affair  of  the  heart?  Please  don't  tell  me  it's  any- 


208  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

thing  to  do  with  a  woman,  for  I  warn  you  I'm  awfully  off 
the  affections  to-night." 

"  You  can  make  yourself  quite  easy  on  that  point," 
Dominic  said  with  a  lift  of  the  head,  his  native  pride 
asserting  itself. 

"  Ah !  that's  more  like  old  times !  "  Poppy's  voice  soft- 
ened again,  so  did  the  expression  of  her  face.  "  Suppose 
you  sit  down,  dear  lunatic.  This  wait  is  a  long  one,  I 
know.  Dot  Parris  told  me  it  was.  Let  the  freaks  play 
about  together  for  a  little.  It  will  do  them  good.  And 
I  find  I  wanted  you  rather  more  than  I  knew  at  first.  I'm 
beginning  to  have  something  to  say  after  all.  Words, 
only  words,  perhaps ;  still  it's  a  soulagement  to  sit  here  with 
you  like  this."  The  corners  of  Poppy's  mouth  drooped 
and  quivered.  "  I'm  having  an  infernally  bad  time ;  and 
there's  worse  ahead." 

"  I  am  sorry.  I  am  grieved,"  Iglesias  said.  For  the 
charm  had  begun  to  work  again,  and  friendship,  as  he 
began  to  know,  although  broken-winged,  was  very  far 
from  dead. 

"  We  won't  talk  about  that,"  she  put  in,  "  or  I  might 
make  a  fool  of  myself.  Dear  man,  I  think  I'd  better  go 
home.  I'm  awfully  tired.  Still,  I'm  better  for  seeing  you." 
She  stood  up.  "  Just  help  me  on  with  my  coat.  Thanks — 
that's  right.  Oh !  I  say,  there  are  the  freaks  on  the  prowl, 
looking  for  you !  "  Poppy's  tragic  eyes  turned  naughty, 
malicious,  gay  even  for  a  moment.  "  What  sport ! "  she 
said — "  unhappy  freaks !  The  withered  leaf  has  inten- 
tions. I  see  that.  She'd  like  to  eat  me  without  salt. 
Don't  marry  her — promise  me  you  won't.  Ah!  heavenly, 
heavenly,"  she  cried.  "  I  need  no  promises,  bless  you.  Your 
face  is  quite  enough.  Wretched  withered  leaf !  But  look 
here,"  she  went  on,  as  she  gathered  the  soft  warm  garment 
about  her,  "  I'm  tired  of  your  incognito.  Give  me  your 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  209 

cardl  I  may  want  you  again.  So  let  me  have  your  name 
and  address." 

And  Iglesias  giving  it  to  her  as  she  requested,  she  studied 
it  for  a  minute  silently.  Then  she  turned  away. 

"  I  want  nothing  more.  Don't  come  down  with  me. 
One  of  the  boys  will  get  me  a  hansom.  I'd  rather  be  alone ; 
so  just  go  back  to  your  flabbergasted  freaks,  beloved  and 
no-longer-nameless  one,"  she  said. 


CHAPTER    XXI 

THIN  sunshine  slanted  in  through  the  lace  curtains  of 
the  dining-room  window.  Encouraged  thereby,  the  parrot 
preened  its  feathers,  making  little  snapping  and  clicking 
noises  meanwhile  with  its  tongue  and  beak.  The  grass  of 
the  Green,  seen  between  the  black  stems  of  the  encircling 
trees,  glittered  with  hoarfrost,  while  the  houses  on  the 
opposite  side  of  it  looked  flat  and  featureless  owing  to  the 
interposing  veil  of  bluish  mist.  Tradesmen's  carts  clat- 
tered by  at  a  sharp  trot,  the  defined  sound  of  them  break- 
ing up  the  all-pervading  murmur  of  London,  and  dying 
out  into  it  again  as  they  passed.  At  the  street  corner, 
some  twenty  yards  away,  a  German  band  discoursed  doubt- 
fully sweet  music,  the  trombone  making  earnest  efforts  to 
keep  the  rest  of  the  instruments  up  to  their  work  by  the 
emission  of  loud  and  reproachful  tootings.  It  was  a  pleas- 
ant and  cheery  morning  as  December  mornings  go,  yet 
constraint  reigned  at  the  Lovegrove  breakfast-table. 

The  day  of  Serena's  oft-discussed  departure  had  dawned. 
A  few  hours  hence  she  would  remove  herself  and  her  boxes 
to  her  cousin  Lady  Samuelson's  residence  in  Ladbroke 
Square.  This  should  have  proved  a  source  of  regret  to 
her  host  and  hostess;  and  they  were  conscience-stricken, 
confessing  to  themselves — though  not  to  one  another,  since 
each  accredited  the  other  with  more  laudable  sentiments 
than  his  or  her  own — that  relief  rather  than  regret  did 
actually  possess  them.  A  secret  from  one  another,  and 
that  a  slightly  discreditable  one,  was  so  foreign  to  the 
experience  of  the  excellent  couple  that  it  lay  heavy  upon 
their  hearts.  Each,  moreover,  was  aware  of  shame  in  the 
presence  of  Serena,  as  in  that  of  a  person  upon  whom  they 

210 


THE    FAR    HORIZON 

.:' 

had  inflicted  an  injury.  Hence  constraint,  which  the  sun- 
shine was  powerless  to  dissipate. 

"  May  I  pass  you  the  eggs,  or  bacon,  or  both,  Serena?  " 
George  Lovegrove  inquired,  his  childlike  blue  eyes  mean- 
while humbly  imploring  pardon  for  his  lack  of  sorrow  at 
her  impending  departure.  Serena's  manner  was  stiff  and 
abstracted.  This,  combined  with  the  rustling  of  her  petti- 
coats, filled  him  with  anxiety.  Was  it  possible  that  she 
knew  ? 

"  Thank  you,  George,  only  an  egg.  Not  that  one, 
please,  it  is  much  too  large.  I  prefer  the  smallest.  I  am 
not  feeling  hungry." 

"  I  should  never  call  you  much  of  a  breakfast-eater, 
Serena,"  Mrs.  Lovegrove  observed  in  her  comfortable  pur- 
ring voice,  from  behind  the  tea-urn.  She  was  desirous  to 
pacify  her  guest.  "  Now  I  am  rather  hearty  myself  in 
the  morning,  always  have  been  so.  I  do  not  know  whether 
it  is  a  good  thing  or  not,  as  a  habit.  Still,  I  think  to-day 
you  should  force  yourself  a  little.  You  should  always 
make  provision  against  a  journey.  And  then  no  doubt 
you  are  rather  fatigued  with  packing  and  getting  home 
so  late  from  the  theatre.  I  am  pleased  to  think  you  had 
an  outing  your  last  night  here,  Serena.  Georgie  tells  me 
the  play  was  very  comical." 

"  I  dare  say  it  was,"  Serena  replied.  "  Of  course  George 
would  be  a  much  better  judge  of  that  than  I  am.  Mamma 
was  always  very  particular  what  we  heard  and  saw  when 
we  were  children,  and  I  know  I  am  inclined  to  think  things 
vulgar  which  other  people  only  find  amusing." 

"  I  did  not  remark  any  vulgarity,  and  do  not  think 
Mr.  Iglesias  would  countenance  anything  of  that  kind 
in  the  presence  of  a  lady.  He  would  ascertain  beforehand 
the  nature  of  the  piece  to  which  he  invited  any  lady  " — 
this  from  George  Lovegrove  tentatively. 

"  Oh !  of  course  I  don't  say  there  was  anything  vulgar. 


THE     FAR     HORIZON 

I  should  not  like  to  commit  myself  to  an  opinion.  I  really 
have  been  to  the  theatre  very  seldom.  Mamma  never  en- 
couraged our  going.  And  then,  of  course,  old  Dr.  Col- 
thurst,  the  rector  of  St.  Jude's  at  Slowby,  whose  church  we 
always  attended,  disapproved  of  the  theatre.  He  had  great 
influence  with  mamma.  And  he  thought  it  wicked." 

"  Indeed,"  Mrs.  Lovegrove  commented.  "  I  should  be 
^orry  to  think  that,  as  so  many  go.  But  he  may  have  come 
across  the  evils  of  it  personally.  He  had  a  son,  an  artist, 
who  was  very  wild,  I  believe.  And  I  remember  to  have 
heard  our  dear  vicar  speak  of  Dr.  Colthurst  as  stern,  but 
a  true  Protestant  and  a  very  grand  preacher." 

"  I  dare  say  he  was — I  don't  mean  that  his  son  was 
wild- — I  know  nothing  about  that,  of  course,  but  that  Dr. 
Colthurst  was  a  great  preacher." 

Serena  spoke  abstractedly,  inspecting  the  yolk  of  her 
poached  egg  meanwhile  as  though  on  the  watch  for  un- 
pleasant foreign  bodies. 

'*  But,"  she  continued,  "  I  cannot,  of  course,  be  ex- 
pected to  remember  his  sermons,  though  I  may  have  been 
taken  to  hear  him.  I  suppose  I  certainly  was  taken,  but  I 
was  quite  too  much  of  a  child  to  remember.  Susan  remem- 
bers them,  but  then  Susan  was  so  very  much  older." 

She  ceased  to  contemplate  her  egg,  and  looked  up  at 
her  hostess. 

"  Susan  must  be  very  nearly  your  age,  Rhoda ;  or  she 
may  be  a  year  or  eighteen  months  younger.  Yes,  judging 
by  the  difference  between  her  age  and  mine,  she  must  be 
quite  eighteen  months  younger.  Of  course,  now,  Susan 
thinks  going  to  the  play  wicked.  I  often  wonder  whether 
that  is  not  partly  because  she  dislikes  sitting  still  and 
listening  when  other  people  are  doing  something.  Susan 
likes  to  take  part  in  everything  herself.  I  often  wonder 
what  she  would  do  in  church  if  it  was  not  for  the  responses 
and  the  singing.  I  am  sure  she  would  never  sit  out  a 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  213 

j 

service  where  the  congregation  did  not  join  in.  Susan 
cannot  bear  a  choral  service.  She  calls  it  un-English  and 
Romanising.  I  do  not  dislike  it — I  mean  I  do  not  dislike 
a  choral  service.  But  then  I  do  not  consider  the  theatre 
wicked.  I  am  not  prejudiced  against  it,  as  Susan  is.  Still, 
I  cannot  deny  that  I  think  you  do  hear  very  odd  things  and 
see  very  over-dressed  people  at  the  theatre." 

Serena  looked  severely  at  her  host,  thereby  heightening 
the  anxiety  which  possessed  him.  For  once  again,  as  so 
often  during  the  past  eight  or  ten  hours,  a  picture  pre- 
sented itself  perplexing  and  fascinating  to  his  mental 
vision — namely,  that  of  his  dear  and  honoured  friend,  the 
grave  and  stately  Dominic  Iglesias,  helping  an  unknown 
lady,  of  remarkably  attractive  personal  appearance,  on 
with  a  wonderful  black  velvet  garment — doing  so  in  the 
calmest  way  in  the  world,  too,  as  though  it  were  an  event 
of  chronic  occurrence — while  the  frills  and  furbelows  of 
her  voluminous  skirts  flowed  in  rosy  billows  about  his  feet. 
What  did  the  picture  portend,  George  Lovegrove  asked 
himself,  and  still  more,  what  did  Serena  suppose  it  por- 
tended ? 

"  Do  you,  indeed?  "  Mrs.  Lovegrove  put  in,  in  amiable 
response  to  her  guest's  last  remark.  She  was  sensible  of 
being  hurt  by  the  allusion  to  her  age.  But  then  Serena 
was  going,  and  she  knew  that  fact  did  not  distress  her  as, 
deeply  as  it  might  have  done.  She  therefore  rose  superior 
to  wounded  feelings.  "  It's  many  years  since  I've  been 
much  of  a  playgoer,"  she  continued,  "  and  people  tell  me 
it's  all  a  good  deal  changed,  and  not  for  the  better.  I 
suppose  the  dressing  nowadays  is  sadly  extravagant.  I 
am  sure  I  don't  know,  and  I  should  always  be  timid  of  con- 
demning anybody  or  their  amusements.  But  there,  as  I 
always  do  say,  if  you  want  to  keep  a  happy  mind  there  is 
so  much  it  is  well  to  be  ignorant  of." 

"  I  wonder  if  it  is — I  mean  I  wonder  if  it  is  well  to  be 


THE     FAR     HORIZON 

ignorant  of  things,"  Serena  said  reflectively.  "  Of  course, 
if  people  think  you  are  willing  to  be  ignorant,  it  encour- 
ages them  in  deceiving  you.  I  think  it  is  very  wrong  to 
be  deceitful.  Sooner  or  later  it  is  sure  to  come  out,  and 
then  it  is  very  difficult  to  forgive  people.  Indeed,  I  am 
not  sure  it  is  right  to  forgive  them." 

With  difficulty  George  Lovegrove  restrained  a  groan. 
His  food  was  as  ashes  in  his  mouth;  his  tea  as  waters  of 
bitterness. 

"  Oh !  I  should  be  sorry  to  go  as  far  as  that,  Serena," 
Mrs.  Lovegrove  remonstrated.  "  If  you  give  way  to  un- 
forgiving feelings  you  can  never  tell  quite  where  they  may 
carry  you.  But  as  I  was  going  to  say,  though  I  am  not 
much  of  a  playgoer,  I  was  very  pleased  to  have  Mr.  Iglesias 
invite  me.  Only,  as  I  explained  to  him,  I  am  very  liable  to 
find  the  seats  too  narrow  for  comfort  in  places  of  amuse- 
ment, and  the  atmosphere  is  often  so  very  close,  too.  He 
was  most  polite  and  sympathising;  but  then  that's  Mr. 
Iglesias  all  over.  He  always  is  the  perfect  gentleman." 

Serena  paused,  her  fork  arrested  in  mid-transit  to  her 
mouth. 

"  I  am  not  sure  that  I  agree  with  you,  Rhoda,"  she  said. 
"  I  am  not  sure  whether  I  think  Mr.  Iglesias  is  really  polite, 
or  whether  he  only  appears  to  be  so  because  it  suits  his 
purpose.  Of  course  you  and  George  know  him  far  better 
than  I  do.  Perhaps  you  understand — I  cannot  pretend 
that  I  understand  him.  I  may  be  wrong,  but  I  often  won- 
der whether  there  is  not  a  good  deal  which  is  rather  insin- 
cere about  Mr.  Iglesias." 

After  throwing  which  bomb,  Serena  gave  her  whole  at- 
tention to  her  breakfast.  Usually  George  Lovegrove  would 
have  waxed  valiant  in  defence  of  his  friend,  but  a  guilty 
conscience  held  him  tongue-tied.  Not  so  Rhoda ;  strive  as 
she  might,  those  allusions  to  her  age  still  rankled.  And, 
under  cover  of  protest  against  injustice  to  the  absent,  she 


THE     FAR    HORIZON  215 

if 

paid  off  a  little  of  her  private  score,  to  her  warm  satisfac- 
tion. 

"Well,  I  am  sure,"  she  cried,  "I  never  could  have 
credited  that  anybody  could  question  Mr.  Iglesias'  gen- 
uineness!  I  would  sooner  doubt  Georgie,  that  I  would, 
and  fear  him  deceitful." 

Again  the  good  man  came  near  groaning.  It  was  as 
though  the  wife  planted  a  poignard  in  his  heart. 

"  And  after  you  playing  the  piano  to  him  so  frequently 
the  few  days  Mr.  Iglesias  stopped  here,  and  seeming  so 
comfortable  together  and  friendly,  and  his  inviting  us  all 
to  the  theatre!  Really,  I  must  say  I  do  think  you  sadly 
changeable,  Serena,  that  I  do." 

"  No,  I  am  not  changeable,  Rhoda,"  the  other  lady  de' 
clared,  both  voice  and  colour  rising  slightly.  "  Nobody 
ever  accused  me  of  being  changeable  before,  and  I  do  not 
like  it.  I  do  not  think  you  are  at  all  justified  in  making 
such  an  accusation.  But  I  am  observant.  I  always  have 
been  so.  Even  Susan  allows  that  I  am  very  observant.  I 
cannot  help  being  so,  and  I  do  not  wish  to  help  it.  I  think 
it  is  much  safer.  It  helps  you  to  find  out  who  you  can 
really  trust.  And,  of  course,  I  observed  a  great  deal  that 
happened  last  night.  I  felt  from  the  first  that  I  owed  it 
to  myself  to  be  particularly  on  my  guard,  because  certain 
insinuations  had  been  made — you  know,  Rhoda,  you  have 
made  them  more  than  once  yourself — and  some  people 
might  have  thought  that  things  had  gone  rather  far  when 
Mr.  Iglesias  was  stopping  here.  I  believe  Mrs.  Porcher 
and  that  dreadful  Miss  Hart  did  think  it.  I  do  not  say 
that  things  did  go  far;  I  only  say  that  people  might 
naturally  think  that  they  had.  On  several  occasions  Mr. 
Iglesias'  conduct  did  seem  very  marked.  And,  of  course, 
nothing  could  be  more  odious  to  me  than  to  be  placed  in 
a  false  position.  One  cannot  be  too  careful,  especially 
with  foreigners.  Mamma  always  warned  us  against  for- 


216  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

eigners  when  we  first  came  out.  I  never  had  any  experience 
of  foreigners  until  I  met  Mr.  Iglesias,  here  at  your  house. 
But,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  I  believe  now  mamma  was  perfectly 
right." 

As  she  ended  her  harangue,  Serena  with  a  petulant 
movement  of  her  thin  hands  pushed  her  plate  away  from 
the  table  edge,  leaving  a  vacant  space  before  her.  This 
was  as  a  declaration  of  war.  She  scorned  further  subter- 
fuge. She  announced  a  demonstration.  A  bright  spot  of 
colour  burned  on  either  cheek,  her  small  head,  on  its  long 
stalk  of  neck,  was  carried  very  erect.  It  was  one  of  those 
pathetic  moments  when — the  merciless  revelations  of  the 
morning  sunshine  notwithstanding — this  slim,  faded,  mid- 
dle-aged spinster  appeared  to  recapture,  and  that  very 
effectively,  the  charm  and  promise  of  her  vanished  youth. 
Excited  by  foolish  anger,  animated  by  a  sense  of  insult 
wholly  misplaced  and  imaginary,  she  became  a  very  pass- 
ably pretty  person,  the  immature  but  hopeful  Serena  of 
eighteen  looking  forth  from  the  eyes  of  the  narrow-souled 
disappointed  Serena  of  eight-and-forty. 

"  Of  course,  George  may  have  some  explanation  of  what 
happened  last  night,"  she  went  on,  speaking  rapidly.  "  If 
he  has,  I  think  it  would  be  only  fair  that  he  should  offer  it 
to  me.  I  took  for  granted  he  would  do  so  this  morning  as 
soon  as  we  met;  or  that  he  would  send  you  to  me,  Rhoda, 
to  explain  if  he  felt  too  awkward  about  speaking  himself. 
But  as  you  both  are  determined  to  ignore  what  happened,  I 
am  forced  to  speak.  I  dare  say  it  would  be  much  more 
convenient  to  you,  knowing  you  have  made  a  mistake,  to 
pass  the  whole  thing  over  in  silence.  But  I  really  cannot 
consent  to  that.  If  Mr.  Iglesias  meant  nothing  all  along, 
then  I  think  he  has  behaved  disgracefully.  If  he  did  mean 
something  at  first,  and  then " — the  speaker  gasped — 
"  changed  his  mind,  he  might  at  least  have  given  some 
hint.  He  ought  to  have  refused  to  stop  here,  of  course." 


THE     FAR    HORIZON  217 

"'He  did  refuse,"  George  Lovegrove  faltered.  This  was 
really  dreadful,  far  worse  than  anything  he  had  antici- 
pated— and  he  had  not  a  notion  what  it  was  safe  to  say. 
"  I  do  wish  females'  minds  were  a  little  less  ingenious,"  he 
commented  to  himself.  "  They  see  such  a  lot  which  would 
never  have  entered  my  head,  for  instance." 

"^  Still,  Mr.  Iglesias  came,"  cried  the  belligerent  Serena. 

"  Yes,  I  over-persuaded  him.  He  was  very  unwilling, 
very  so  indeed,  saying  that  staying  out  was  altogether 
foreign  to  his  practice.  But  I  pointed  out  to  him  that 
you  and  the  wife  might  feel  rather  mortified  if  he  omitted 
to  come,  having  taken  such  an  interest  in  his  illness 
and " 

"  If  you  made  use  of  my  name,  George,  you  took  a 
great  liberty." 

"  I  am  very  distressed  to  hear  you  say  that,  Serena. 
Both  the  wife  and  I  certainly  supposed  you  wished  him 
to  come." 

He  looked  imploringly  at  his  spouse,  asking  support. 
But  for  once  the  large  kindly  countenance  failed  to  beam 
responsive.  A  plaintive  expression  overspread  its  surface. 
Then  the  unhappy  man  stared  despondently  out  into  the 
misty  morning  sunshine,  plastering  .down  his  shiny  hair 
with  a  moist  and  shaky  hand.  Even  the  wife  turned 
against  him,  making  him  feel  an  outcast  at  his  own  break- 
fast-table. He  could  have  wept. 

"  I  have  been  so  very  guarded  throughout,"  Serena 
resumed,  "  that  it  is  impossible  you  should  have  the  slight- 
est excuse  for  using  my  name.  But,  of  course,  if  you  have 
done  so,  my  position  is  more  than  ever  odious.  There  is 
nothing  for  me  to  do  but  to  go.  Fortunately  I  am  going 
— and  I  am  thankful.  If  I  had  followed  my  own  inclina- 
tions, I  should  have  gone  long  ago.  Then  I  should  have 
been  spared  all  this,  and  nothing  would  have  been  said. 
Now  all  sorts  of  things  may  be  said,  because,  of  course,  it 


218  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

must  all  look  very  odd.  It  shows  how  foolish  it  is  to  allow 
one's  judgment  to  be  overruled.  I  stayed  entirely  to 
oblige  Rhoda.  And  I  cannot  but  see  I  have  been  trifled 
with." 

"  No,  no,  Serena,  not  that — never  that,"  her  host  cried 
distractedly.  "  If  I  have  been  in  the  wrong,  I  apologise 
from  my  heart.  But  trifling  never  entered  my  thoughts. 
How  could  it  do  so,  with  all  the  respect  I  have  for  you  and 
Susan?  I  may  have  been  clumsy,  but  I  acted  for  the 
best." 

"  I  am  afraid  I  cannot  agree,"  she  retorted.  "  It  is 
useless  to  apologise.  I  am  sorry  to  tell  you  so,  George, 
for  I  have  trusted  you  until  now;  but  I  do  feel,  and  I  am 
afraid  I  always  shall  feel,  I  have  been  very  unkindly 
treated  by  you  and  Rhoda." 

She  rose,  rustling  as  she  spoke,  the  parrot,  meanwhile, 
leaving  off  preening  its  feathers,  regarding  her,  its  head 
very  much  on  one  side,  with  a  wicked  eye. 

"  No,  please  leave  me  to  myself,"  she  said.  "  I  do  not 
want  anybody  to  help  me,  and  if  I  do  I  shall  ring  for  the 
maids.  I  want  to  compose  myself  before  I  go  to  Lady 
Samuelson's.  After  all  this  unpleasantness,  it  is  much 
better  for  me  to  be  alone." 

"  Good-bye,  girlie,  poor  old  girlie.  Hi !  p'liceman,  bring 
a  four-wheeler,"  shrieked  the  parrot,  as  Serena  opened  and 
closed  the  dining-room  door,  flapping  wildly  in  the  sun- 
shine till  the  sand  and  seed  husks  on  the  floor  of  its  cage 
arose  and  whirled  upwards  in  a  crazy  little  cloud. 

George  Lovegrove,  who  had  risen  to  his  feet,  sank  back 
into  his  chair,  resting  his  elbows  on  the  table  and  covering 
his  face  with  his  hands. 

"  I  would  rather  have  forfeited  my  pension,"  he  mur- 
mured. "  I  would  rather  have  lost  a  hundred  pounds." 

Then  raising  his  head  he  gazed  imploringly  at  his  wife. 
And  this  time  her  tender  heart  could  not  resist  the  appeal. 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  219 

-/ 

He  had  not  been  open  with  her,  but  she  relented,  giving 
him  opportunity  to  retrieve  his  error.  Moreover — but  that 
naturally  was  a  very  minor  consideration — she  was  burst- 
ing with  curiosity. 

"  Georgie,"  she  asked  solemnly,  "  whatever  did  happen 
last  night?  " 

"*Mr.  Iglesias  met  a  lady  friend.  She  sent  for  him  to 
talk  to  her,  in  the  lobby,  between  the  acts,"  he  answered, 
the  red  deepening  in  his  clean  fresh-coloured  face. 

"  Not  any  of  that  designing  Cedar  Lodge  lot?  " 

"  Oh !  dear  no,  not  at  all,"  he  replied,  his  childlike  eyes 
full  of  gratitude.  He  blessed  the  magnanimity  of  the  wife. 
But  speedily  embarrassment  supervened.  He  found  this 
subject  singularly  difficult  to  deal  with.  "  Not  at  all  of 
their  class.  I  confess  it  did  surprise  me,  for  though  I  have 
always  taken  it  for  granted  Dominic  belonged  to  a  higher 
circle  by  birth  than  that  in  which  we  have  known  him,  I 
had  no  idea  he  had  such  aristocratic  acquaintances.  His 
looks  and  manner  in  public,  last  night,  made  him  seem 
fitted  for  any  company.  Still,  I  was  surprised." 

"  Did  he  not  introduce  you  ?  " 

"  No.  I  cannot  say  he  had  a  convenient  opportunity, 
and  the  lady  may  not  have  wished  it.  I  could  fancy  she 
might  hold  herself  a  little  above  us.  But,  between  our- 
selves, I  believe  that  was  what  so  upset  Serena." 

"  I  am  of  opinion  Mr.  Iglesias  is  just  as  well  without 
Serena,"  Mrs.  Lovegrove  declared.  "  I  suppose  she  can- 
not help  it,  but  her  temper  is  sadly  uncertain.  I  begin  to 
fear  she  would  be  very  exacting  in  marriage.  But  was  the 
lady  young,  Georgie  ?  " 

The  good  man  blushed  furiously. 

"  Yes,  under  thirty,  I  should  suppose,  and  very  striking 
to  look  at.  Serena  had  called  my  attention  to  her  already. 
She  thought  her  over-dressed.  I  am  no  judge  of  that,  but 
I  could  see  she  was  very  beautiful." 


220  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

"  Oh !  Georgia  dear !  "  This  in  high  protest.  For  the 
speaker  belonged  to  that  section  of  the  British  public  in 
which  puritanism  is  even  yet  deeply  ingrained,  with  the 
dreary  consequence  that  beauty,  whether  of  person  or  in 
art,  is  suspect.  To  admit  its  existence  trenches  on  im- 
modesty; to  speak  of  it  openly  is  to  skirt  the  edges  of 
licence. 

George  Lovegrove,  however,  had  developed  unaccus- 
tomed boldness. 

"  So  she  was,  my  dear,"  he  repeated,  not  squinting  in 
the  least  for  once.  "  She  was  beautiful,  dark  and  splendid, 
with  eyes  that  looked  right  through  you,  mocking  and  yet 
mournful.  They  made  a  noble  couple,  she  and  Dominic, 
notwithstanding  the  disparity  of  age.  As  they  stood  there 
together  I  felt  honoured  to  see  them  both.  And  if  Dominic 
Iglesias  is  to  have  friends  with  whom  we  are  unacquainted 
— though  I  do  not  deny  the  thing  hurt  me  a  little  at  first — 
I  am  glad  they  should  be  so  handsome  and  fine.  It  seems 
to  me  fitting,  and  as  if  he  was  in  his  true  sphere  at  last." 

A  silence  followed  this  profession  of  faith,  during  which 
Mrs.  Lovegrove's  face  presented  a  singular  study.  She 
stared  at  her  husband  in  undisguised  amazement,  while  the 
corners  of  her  mouth  and  her  large  soft  cheeks  quivered. 

"  Well,  I  should  never  have  expected  to  hear  you  talk 
so,  Georgie,"  she  said  huskily.  "  It  seems  unlike  you  some- 
how, almost  as  though  you  were  despising  your  own  flesh 
and  blood." 

"  No,  no,"  he  answered,  "  I  could  never  do  that.  I  could 
never  be  so  forgetful  of  all  I  owe  to  my  own  family  and  to 
yours,  Rhoda.  I  am  under  deep  obligations  to  both.  But 
it  would  be  dishonest  to  deny  that  I  set  a  wonderfully  high 
value  on  Dominic  Iglesias'  regard,  and  have  done  so  ever 
since  we  were  boys  together  at  school.  To  me  Dominic  has 
always  stood  by  himself,  I  knowing  how  superior  he  was  to 
me  in  mind  and  in  all  else,  so  that  it  has  been  my  truest 


THE     FAR     HORIZON 

honour  and  privilege  to  be  admitted  to  intimacy  with  him. 
But  the  difference  between  us  never  came  home  to  me  as  it 
did  when  I  saw  him  in  other  company  last  night.  He  is 
fitted  for  a  higher  position  than  he  has  ever  filled  yet — we 
all  used  to  allow  that  in  old  days  at  the  bank — or  for  any 
society  we  can  offer  him.  So,  though  I  felt  humiliated  in 
a  measure,  I  felt  glad.  For  I  can  grudge  him  nothing  in 
the  way  of  new  friends,  even  though  they  may  be  differ- 
ently placed  to  ourselves  and  should  come  between  him  and 
me  a  little,  making  our  intercourse  less  frequent  and  easy 
than  in  the  past.  From  my  heart  I  wish  him  the  very  best 
that  is  going,  although  it  should  be  rather  detrimental  to 
myself." 

Mrs.  Lovegrove's  cheeks  still  quivered,  but  the  expres- 
sion of  her  face  was  unresponsive  once  more,  not  to  say 
obstinate.  Jealousy,  indeed,  possessed  her.  For  the  first 
time  in  her  whole  experience  she  realised  her  husband  as  an 
individual,  as  a  human  entity  independent  of  herself.  To 
contemplate  him  otherwise  than  in  the  marital  relation  was 
a  shock  to  her.  She  felt  deserted,  a  potential  Ariadne  on 
Naxos.  Hence  jealousy,  resentment,  cruel  hurt. 

"  Well,  to  be  sure,  what  a  long  story ! "  she  cried,  in 
tones  approaching  sarcasm,  "  and  all  about  someone  who 
is  no  relation,  too!  Whatever  possesses  you,  Georgie? 
You  aren't  a  bit  like  yourself.  It  seems  to  me  this  morning 
everybody's  bewitched."  She  heaved  herself  up  out  of  her 
chair.  "  I  shall  go  and  try  to  make  it  up  with  Serena,"  she 
continued.  "  It  is  only  Christian  charity  to  do  so ;  and, 
poor  thing,  I  can  well  understand  she  may  have  had  cause 
enough  for  mortification  now  I  have  made  out  what  really 
did  take  place  last  night." 

Usually,  left  alone  in  the  dining-room,  George  Love- 
grove  would  have  proceeded  methodically  to  do  a  number 
of  neat  little  odd  jobs,  humming  softly  the  while  funny, 
shapeless  little  tunes  to  himself  in  the  fulness  of  his  guile- 


222  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

less  content.  He  would  have  piled  up  the  fire  with  small 
coal  and  dust,  thus  keeping  it  alight  but  saving  fuel  till 
luncheon-time,  when  one  skilful  stir  with  the  poker  would 
produce  a  cheerful  blaze.  Then  he  would  have  proceeded 
to  the  little  conservatory  opening  off  his  box  of  a  sanctum 
at  the  back  of  the  house — containing  his  roller-top  desk, 
his  papers,  Borough  Council  and  parish  reports,  his  maga- 
zines, his  best  and  second-best  overcoats  hung  on  pegs 
against  the  wall  along  with  his  silk  hat.  In  the  conserva- 
tory, still  humming,  he  would  have  smoked  his  morning 
pipe,  feeding  the  gold-fish  in  the  small  square  glass  tank — 
a  tiny  fountain  in  the  centre  of  which  it  pleased  him  to  set 
playing — and  later  carefully  examining  the  ferns  and 
other  pot-plants  in  search  of  green-fly,  scale,  or  blight. 
But  to-day  the  innocent  routine  of  his  life  was  rudely 
broken  up.  He  had  no  heart  for  his  accustomed  tidy  pot- 
terings,  but  lingered  aimlessly,  fingering  the  gold  watch- 
chain  strained  across  the  convex  surface  of  his  waistcoat, 
and  looking  pitifully  enough  between  the  lace  curtains  out 
on  to  the  Green. 

The  sun  had  climbed  the  sky,  burning  up  the  hoarfrost 
and  mist,  so  that  the  houses  opposite  had  become  clearly 
discernible.  Presently  he  beheld  a  tall,  upright  figure 
emerge  from  the  front  door  of  Cedar  Lodge.  For  a  mo- 
ment Mr.  Iglesias  stood  at  the  head  of  the  flight  of  im- 
maculately white  stone  steps,  rolling  up  his  umbrella  and 
putting  on  his  gloves  preparatory  to  setting  forth  on  his 
morning  walk.  And,  watching  him,  a  wave  of  humility 
and  self-depreciation  swept  over  George  Lovegrove's  gentle 
and  candid  soul,  combined  with  an  aching  or  regret  that 
destiny  had  not  seen  fit  to  deal  with  him  rather  otherwise 
than  it  actually  had.  He  felt  a  great  longing  that  he,  too, 
were  possessed  of  a  stately  presence,  brains,  breeding,  and 
handsome  looks.  There  stirred  in  him  an  almost  impas- 
sioned craving  for  romance,  for  escape  from  the  intermin- 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  223 

able  respectabilities  and  domesticities  of  English  middle- 
class  suburban  life.  He  went  a  step  further,  rebelling 
against  the  feminine  atmosphere  which  surrounded  him,  in 
which  "  feelings "  so  constantly  usurped  the  place  of 
actions,  and  suppositions  that  of  fact.  Then,  the  vision 
of  a  beautiful  woman  with  a  strange  rose-scarlet  dress,  in 
whose  eyes  sorrow  struggled  with  mocking  laughter,  once 
again  assailed  him.  Who  she  might  be,  and  what  her  his- 
tory, he  most  emphatically  knew  not ;  yet  that  she  breathed 
a  keener  and  more  tonic  air  than  that  to  which  he  was 
habituated,  that  feelings  in  her  case  did  not  stand  for 
actions,  or  suppositions  for  fact,  he  was  fully  convinced. 

"  Poor  old  chappie,  take  a  brandy  and  soda.  Got  the 
hump?  " — this,  shrilly,  from  the  parrot  hanging  head 
downwards  from  the  roof  of  its  cage. 

At  the  sound  of  that  at  once  unhuman  and  singularly 
confidential  voice  close  beside  him,  George  Lovegrove  gave 
a  guilty  start. 

"  Yes,  the  wife  is  quite  right,"  he  said,  half  aloud.  "  If 
you  want  to  keep  a  happy  mind  there  is  very  much  of  which 
it  is  as  well  to  be  ignorant." 

Then  shame  covered  him,  for  in  his  recent  meditations 
and  apprehensions  had  he  not  come  very  near  turning 
traitor,  and  being,  in  imagination  at  all  events,  subtly 
unfaithful  to  that  same  large  kindly  comfortable  wife? 


CHAPTER    XXII 

Two  months  had  passed,  and  February  was  about  to  give 
place  to  March — two  months  empty  of  outward  event  for 
Dominic  Iglesias,  but  big  with  thought  and  consolidation 
of  purpose.  He  had  been  more  than  ever  solitary  during 
this  period,  for  his  acquaintance,  even  to  the  faithful 
George  Lovegrove,  stood  aloof.  But  Dominic  hardly 
noticed  this.  Though  solitary,  he  had  not  been  lonely, 
since  his  mind  was  absorbed  in  question,  in  pursuit,  in  the 
consciousness  of  deepening  conviction.  For  the  recogni- 
tion not  merely  of  religion,  but  of  Christianity,  as  a  su- 
preme factor  in  earthly  existence,  which  had  come  to  him 
in  the  dreary  December  twilight,  as,  broken  in  health  and 
in  spirit,  he  gazed  upon  the  carven  picture  of  Calvary, 
had  proved  no  fugitive  experience.  It  remained  by  him, 
entracing  his  imagination  and  satisfying  both  his  heart 
and  his  intelligence;  so  that  he  looked  back  upon  the  hour 
of  his  despair  thankfully,  seeing  in  it  the  starting-point  of 
a  journey  the  prosecution  of  which  promised  not  only  to 
be  the  main  occupation  of  his  remaining  years  here  in  time, 
but,  the  river  of  death  once  crossed,  to  stretch  onward 
and  onward  through  realms,  at  present  inconceivable,  of 
beauty,  of  knowledge,  and  of  love.  And  so,  for  the  moment, 
solitude  was  sweet  to  him,  leaving  him  free  of  petty  cares 
and  anxieties — he  moving  forward,  ignorant  of  the  gossip 
which  in  point  of  fact  surrounded  him,  innocent  of  the 
feminine  plots  and  counterplots  of  which  his  blameless 
bachelorhood  was  at  once  the  provoking  cause  and  the 
object;  while  in  his  eyes — though  of  this,  too,  he  was  igno- 
rant— dwelt  increasingly  reflection  of  that  mysterious  and 
lovely  light  which,  let  obstinately  purblind  man  deny  it  as 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  225 

he  may,  lies  forever  along  the  far  horizon,  for  comfort 
of  godly  wayfarers  and  as  beacon  of  the  elect. 

Yet  it  must  not  be  supposed  that  the  outset  of  Iglesias' 
spiritual  journey  was  wholly  serene,  free  from  obstacle  or 
hesitation,  from  risk  of  untoward  selection,  or  rejection, 
of  the  safe  way.  Many  roads,  and  those  bristling  with 
contradictory  signposts,  presented  themselves.  Noisy 
touts,  each  crying  up  his  own  special  mode  and  means  of 
conveyance,  rushed  forth  at  every  turn. 

Modern  Protestantism,  as  he  encountered  it  in  the  pages 
of  popular  newspapers  and  magazines,  at  Mrs.  Porcher's 
dinner-table,  or  in  the  good  Lovegroves'  drawing-room, 
had  small  attraction  for  him,  since  it  appeared  to  advance 
chiefly  by  negations  stated  with  rather  blatant  self-suf- 
ficiency and  self-conceit.  It  might  tend  to  the  making  of 
respectable  municipal  councillors ;  but,  in  his  opinion,  it 
was  idle  to  pretend  that  it  tended  to  the  making  of  saints 
• — and  for  the  saints,  those  experts  in  the  divine  science, 
Iglesias  confessed  a  weakness.  Of  spirituality  it  showed, 
to  his  seeing,  as  little  outward  evidence  as  of  philosophy  or 
of  art.  The  phrases  of  piety  might  still  be  upon  the  lips 
of  its  votaries ;  but  the  attitude  and  aspirations  engendered 
by  piety  were  unfortunately  dead.  Its  system  of  ethics 
was  frankly  utilitarian.  Its  goal,  though  hidden  from  the 
simple  by  a  maze  of  high-sounding  sentiment,  was  Ration- 
alism pure  and  simple.  Its  god  was  not  the  creator  of  the 
visible  universe,  of  angels  and  archangels,  dominions,  prin- 
cipalities, and  powers,  of  incalculable  natural  and  super- 
natural forces,  but  a  jerky  loose- jointed  pasteboard  divin- 
ity, the  exclusive  possession,  since  it  is  the  exclusive  inven- 
tion, of  the  Anglo-Saxon  race,  through  whose  gaping 
mouth  any  and  every  self-elected  prophet  was  free  to 
shout,  as  heaven-descended  truth,  in  the  name  of  progress 
and  liberty,  whatever  political  or  social  catchword  chanced 
to  be  the  fashion  of  the  hour. 


226  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

Nor  did  the  neo-mystics,  whose  utterances  are  also  sown 
broadcast  in  contemporary  literature  and  who  are  so  lavish 
with  their  offers  of  divine  enlightenment,  please  Iglesias 
any  better.  For  his  mind,  thanks  to  his  Latin  ancestry, 
was  of  the  logical  order,  while  a  business  training  and  long 
knowledge  of  affairs  had  taught  him  the  value  of  method, 
giving  him  an  unalterable  reverence  for  fact,  and  impress- 
ing upon  him  the  existence  of  law,  absolute  and  immutable, 
in  every  department  of  nature  and  of  human  activity — 
law,  to  break  which  is  to  destroy  the  sequence  of  cause  and 
effect,  and  so  procure  abortion.  Therefore  this  new  school 
of  thinkers — if  one  can  dignify  by  the  name  of  thinkers 
persons  of  so  vague  and  topsy-turvy  a  mental  habit — nour- 
ishing themselves  upon  the  windy  meat  of  secular  and  time- 
exploded  fallacies,  upon  the  temple-sweepings  of  all  the 
religions,  oriental  and  occidental,  old  and  new,  combined 
with  ill-attested  marvels  of  modern  physical  and  psycho- 
logical experiment,  were  far  from  commending  themselves 
to  his  calm  and  patient  judgment.  Such  excited  persons, 
as  a  slight  acquaintance  with  history  proves  beyond  all 
question,  have  existed  in  every  age ;  and,  suffering  from 
chronic  mental  dyspepsia,  have  ever  been  liable  to  mistake 
the  rumblings  of  internal  flatulence  for  the  Witness  of  the 
Spirit.  In  their  current  pronouncements  Iglesias  met  with 
a  wearisome  passion  for  paradox,  and  an  equally  wearisome 
disposition  to  hail  all  eccentricity  as  genius,  all  hysteria  as 
inspiration.  While  in  their  exaltation  of  the  "  sub-con- 
scious self  " — namely,  of  those  blind  movements  of  instinct 
and  foreboding  common  to  the  lower  animals  and  to  savage 
or  degenerate  man  alike — as  against  the  intellect  and  the 
reasoned  action  of  the  will,  he  saw  a  menace  to  human  at- 
tainment, to  civilisation — in  the  best  meaning  of  that  word 
— to  right  reason  and  noble  living,  which  it  would  be  dif- 
ficult to  overestimate.  These  good  people,  while  pouring 
contempt  on  the  body,  and  even  denying  its  existence,  in 


THE     FAR     HORIZON 

jf 

point  of  fact  thought  and  talked  about  little  else.     All  of 

which  struck  him  as  not  only  very  tiresome  and  very  silly, 
but  very  dangerous.  Modern  Protestantism  might  eventu- 
ate in  Rationalism,  in  a  limiting  of  human  endeavour  ex- 
clusively to  the  end  of  material  well-being.  But  this 
worship  of  the  pseudo-sciences,  this  tinkering  at  the  ac- 
cepted foundations  and  accepted  decencies  of  the  social 
order,  this  cultivation  of  intellectual  and  moral  chaos, 
could,  for  the  vast  majority  of  its  professors  at  all  events, 
eventuate  only  in  the  mad-house.  And  to  the  mad-house, 
whether  by  twentieth-century  esoteric  airship  or  occult 
subway,  Dominic  Iglesias  had  not  the  very  smallest  desire 
to  go. 

For  he  had  no  ambition  to  be  "  on  time  "  and  up-to-date, 
to  electrify  either  himself  or  his  contemporaries  by  an 
exhibition  of  mental  smartness.  He  merely  desired,  ear- 
nestly yet  humbly,  to  be  given  grace  to  find  the  road — • 
however  archaic  in  the  eyes  of  the  modern  world  that  road 
might  be — which  leads  to  the  light  on  the  far  horizon  and 
beyond  to  the  presence  of  God.  The  more  he  meditated  on 
these  things  the  more  inconceivable  it  became  to  him  but 
that  this  road  veritably  existed;  and  that,  not  by  labour 
of  man,  but  by  everlasting  ordinance  of  God.  It  was 
absurd,  in  face  of  a  state  of  being  so  complex,  so  highly 
organised,  so  universally  subjected  to  law,  as  the  one  in 
which  he  found  himself,  that  a  matter  of  such  supreme 
importance  as  the  channel  of  intercourse  between  the  soul 
and  its  Maker  should  have  been  left  to  haphazard  accident 
or  blundering  of  lucky  chance.  And  so,  having  supple- 
mented his  researches  in  print,  by  listening  to  the  discourses 
of  many  teachers,  from  one  end  of  London  to  the  other  in 
lecture-hall,  chapel,  and  church,  having  even  stood  among 
the  crowds  which  gather  around  itinerant  preachers  in  the 
Park,  Dominic  found  his  thought  fixing  itself  with  deepen- 
ing assurance  upon  the  communion  in  which  he  had  been 


228  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

born  and  baptised,  which  his  father,  in  the  interests  of  the 
revolutionary  propaganda,  had  so  bitterly  repudiated,  and 
from  which  his  mother,  broken  by  the  tyranny  of  circum- 
stance and  bodily  weakness,  had  lapsed. 

Outside  that  communion  he  beheld  only  weltering  seas 
of  prejudice  and  conflicting  opinion,  heard  only  the  tumult 
of  confused  and  acrimonious  contest.  Within  he  beheld 
the  calm  of  fearlessly  wielded  authority  and  of  loyal  obedi- 
ence; heard  the  awed  silence  of  those  who  worship  being 
glad.  For  the  Catholic  Church,  as  Iglesias  began  to  un- 
derstand, is  something  far  greater  than  any  triumphant 
example  of  that  which  can  be  attained  by  cooperation  and 
organisation.  It  is  not  an  organisation,  but  an  organism ; 
a  Living  Being,  perfectly  proportioned,  with  inherent 
powers  of  development  and  growth;  ever-existent  in  the 
Divine  Mind  before  Time  was ;  recipient  and  guardian  of 
the  deepest  secrets,  the  most  sacred  mysteries  of  existence ; 
endlessly  adaptable  to  changing  conditions  yet  immutably 
the  same.  Hence  it  is  that  Catholicism  presents  no  ques- 
tionable historic  pedigree  and  speaks  with  no  uncertain 
voice.  Claiming  not  only  to  know  the  road  the  soul  must 
tread  would  it  reach  the  far  horizon,  but  to  be  the  ap- 
pointed warden  of  that  same  road  and  sustainer  of  it,  she 
points  with  proud  confidence  to  the  vast  multitude  which, 
under  her  guidance,  has  joyfully  trodden  it — a  multitude 
as  diverse  in  gifts  and  estate,  as  in  age  and  race — as  proof 
of  the  authenticity  of  her  mission  to  the  toiling  and  sor- 
rowful children  of  men. 

Yet,  since  unconditional  surrender  must  ever  strike  a 
pretty  shrewd  blow  at  the  roots  both  of  personal  pride 
and  worldly  caution,  Dominic  Iglesias  hesitated  to  take  the 
final  step  and  declare  himself.  To  one  who  has  long  lived 
outside  the  creeds,  and  that  not  ungodly,  still  less  bes- 
tially, it  is  no  light  matter  to  subject  attitude  of  mind  and 
daily  habit  to  distinct  rule.  Not  only  does  the  natural 


THE    FAR     HORIZON  229 

man  rebel  against  the  apparent  limiting  of  his  personal 
freedom,  but  the  conventional  and  sophisticated  man  fears 
lest  agreement  should,  after  all,  spell  weakness,  while  in- 
differentism — specially  in  outward  observances — argues 
strength.  A  certain  shyness,  moreover,  withheld  Iglesias, 
a  not  unadmirable  dread  of  being  guilty  of  ostentation. 
It  w,as  so  little  his  custom  to  obtrude  himself,  his  opinions, 
and  his  needs  upon  the  attention  of  others,  that  he  was 
scrupulous  and  diffident  in  the  selection  of  time  and  place. 
The  affair,  however,  decided  itself,  as  affairs  usually  do 
when  the  intention  of  those  undertaking  them  is  a  sincere 
one — and  thus. 

The  tide  of  war  had  begun  to  turn.  Earlier  in  the  week 
had  come  the  news  of  General  Cronje's  surrender,  after  the 
three  days'  shelling  of  his  laager  at  Paardeberg.  Hence 
satisfaction,  not  only  of  victory  but  of  compassion,  since 
a  sense  of  horror  had  weighed  on  the  hearts  of  even  the 
least  sentimental  at  thought  of  the  stubborn  thousands, 
penned  in  that  flaming  rat-trap  of  the  dry  river-bed,  ringed 
about  by  sun-baked  rock  and  sand  and  death-belching  guns. 
To-day  came  news  of  the  relief  of  long-beleaguered  Lady- 
smith,  and  London  was  shaken  by  emotion,  under  the  bleak 
moisture-laden  March  sky,  the  air  thick  with  the  clash  of 
joy-bells,  buildings  gay  with  riotous  outbreak  of  many- 
coloured  flags,  the  streets  vibrant  with  the  tread  and  voices 
of  surging  crowds. 

Iglesias,  who  early  that  afternoon  had  walked  City- 
wards to  see  the  holiday  aspect  of  the  town  and  glean  the 
latest  war  news,  growing  somewhat  weary  on  his  home- 
ward journey  of  the  humours  of  his  fellow-citizens — which 
became  beery  and  boisterous  as  the  day  drew  on — turned 
in  at  the  open  gates  of  the  Oratory,  in  passing  along  the 
Brompton  Road.  His  purpose  was  to  gain  a  little  breath- 
ing space  from  the  jostling  throng,  by  standing  at  the 
head  of  the  steps  under  the  wide  portico  of  the  great 


230  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

church.  Looking  westward,  above  the  wedge  of  mean  and 
ill-assorted  houses  that  marks  the  junction  of  the  Fulham 
and  the  Cromwell  Roads — the  muddy  pavements  of  which, 
far  as  the  eye  carried,  were  black  with  people — the  yellow- 
ish glare  of  a  pallid  sunset  spread  itself  across  the  leaden 
dulness  of  the  sky.  The  wan  and  sickly  light  touched  the 
architrave  and  columns  of  the  facade  of  the  great  church, 
bringing  this  and  the  statue  of  the  Blessed  Virgin  which 
surmounts  it  into  a  strange  and  phantasmal  relief — a 
building  not  material  and  of  this  world,  but  rather  of  a 
city  of  dreams.  To  Iglesias  it  appeared  as  though  there 
was  an  element  of  menace  in  that  cold  and  melancholy  re- 
flection of  the  sunset.  It  produced  in  him  a  sense  of  in- 
security and  distrust,  which  the  roar  of  the  traffic  and 
horseplay  of  the  crowd  were  powerless  to  counteract. 
London,  the  monstrous  mother,  in  this  hour  of  her  rejoic- 
ing showed  singularly  unattractive.  Her  features  were 
grimed  with  soot,  her  dull-hued  garments  foul  with  slush, 
her  gestures  were  common,  her  laughter  coarse.  His  soul 
revolted  from  the  sight  and  sound  of  her ;  revolted  against 
the  fate  which  had  bound  him  so  closely  to  her  in  the  past, 
and  which  bound  him  still.  The  spirit  of  her  infected  even 
the  sky  above  her,  painting  it  with  the  sad  colours  of  per- 
plexity and  doubt.  He  stepped  farther  back  under  the 
portico,  moved  by  desire  to  escape  from  the  too  insistent 
thought  and  spectacle  of  her.  Doing  so,  he  became  aware 
of  music  reaching  him  faintly  from  behind  the  closed  doors 
of  the  church,  fine  yet  sonorous  harmonies  supporting  the 
radiant  clarity  of  a  boy's  voice. 

Then  Iglesias  understood  that  he  was  presented  here  and 
immediately  with  the  moment  of  final  choice.  Delay  was 
dishonourable,  since  it  was  nothing  less  than  a  shirking  of 
the  obligations  which  his  convictions  had  created.  So 
there,  on  the  one  hand — for  so  the  whole  matter  pictured 
itself  to  his  seeing — was  London,  the  type,  as  she  is  in  fact 


the  capital,  of  the  modern  world — of  its  ambitions,  mate- 
rial and  social,  of  its  activities,  of  its  amazing  association 
of  pleasure  and  misery,  of  the  rankest  poverty  and  most 
plethoric  wealth — at  once  formless,  sprawling,  ugly, 
vicious,  while  magnificent  in  intelligence,  in  vitality,  in 
display,  as  in  actual  area  and  bulk.  On  the  other  hand, 
and  in  the  eyes  of  the  majority  phantasmal  as  a  city  of 
dreams,  was  Holy  Church,  austere,  restrictive,  demanding 
much  yet  promising  little  save  clean  hands  and  a  pure 
heart,  until  the  long  and  difficult  road  is  traversed  which 
— as  she  declares — leads  to  the  light  on  the  far  horizon 
and  beyond  to  the  presence  of  God. 

"  If  one  could  be  certain  of  that  last,  then  all  would  be 
simple  and  easy,"  Iglesias  said  to  himself,  looking  out  over 
the  turbulence  of  the  streets  to  the  pallid  menace  of  the 
western  sky.  "  But  it  is  in  the  nature  of  things,  that 
one  cannot  be  certain.  Certainty,  whether  for  good 
or  evil,  can  only  come  after  the  event.  One  must 
take  the  risk.  And  the  risk  is  great,  almost  appallingly 
great." 

For  just  then  there  awoke  and  cried  in  him  all  the  re- 
pressed and  frustrated  pride  of  a  man's  life — lust  of  the 
flesh,  lust  of  the  eyes,  overweening  ambition  of  power  and 
place,  of  cruelty  even,  of  gross  licence  and  debauch.  For 
the  moment  he  ceased  to  be  an  individual,  limited  by  time 
and  circumstances,  and  became,  in  desire,  the  possessor  of 
the  passions  and  reckless  curiosity  of  the  whole  human 
race.  So  that,  in  imagination  he  suffered  unexampled 
temptations ;  and,  in  resisting  them,  flung  aside  unexampled 
allurements  of  grandeur  and  conceivable  delight.  Not 
what  actually  was,  or  ever  had  been,  possible  to  and  for 
him,  Dominic  Iglesias,  bank-clerk,  assailed  him  with  pro- 
vocative vision  and  voice ;  but  the  whole  pageant  of  earthly 
being,  and  the  inebriation  of  it.  Nothing  less  than  this 
did  he  behold,  and  drink  of,  and,  in  spirit,  repudiate  and 


232  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

put  away  forever,  as  at  last  he  pulled  open  the  heavy  swing 
doors  and  passed  into  the  church. 

Within  all  was  dim,  mist  and  incense  smoke  obscuring 
the  roof  of  the  great  dome,  the  figures  of  the  kneeling  con- 
gregation far  below  showing  small  and  dark.  Only  the 
high  altar  was  ablaze  with  many  lights,  in  the  centre  of 
which,  high-uplifted,  encircled  by  the  golden  rays  of  the 
monstrance,  pale,  mysterious,  pearl  of  incalculable  price, 
showed  the  immaculate  Host. 

Quietly  yet  fearlessly,  as  one  who  comes  by  long-estab- 
lished right,  Dominic  walked  the  length  of  the  nave,  knelt 
devoutly  on  both  knees,  prostrating  himself  as,  long  ago, 
in  the  days  of  early  childhood  his  mother  had  taught  him 
to  do  at  the  Exposition  of  the  Blessed  Sacrament.  Now, 
after  all  these  years — and  a  sob  rose  in  his  throat — he 
seemed  to  feel  her  hand  upon  his  shoulder,  the  gentle  pres- 
sure of  which  enjoined  deepest  reverence.  Then  rising, 
he  took  his  place  in  the  second  row  of  seats  on  the  gospel 
side,  and  remained  there,  through  the  concluding  acts  of 
the  ceremonial,  until  the  silent  congregation  suddenly  finds 
voice — penetrated  by  austere  emotion — in  recitation  of  the 
Divine  Praises. 

Some  minutes  later  he  knelt  in  the  confessional,  laying 
bare  the  secrets  of  his  heart. 

Thus  did  Dominic  Iglesias  cast  off  the  bondage  of  that 
monstrous  mother,  London-town,  cast  off  the  terror  of 
those  unbidden  companions,  Loneliness  and  Old  Age,  using 
freedom — as  the  world  counts  such  action — to  abjure  free- 
dom; and,  taking  the  risks,  humbly  reconcile  himself  to 
Holy  Church. 


CHAPTER    XXIII 

GOOD  George  Lovegrove  wandered  solitary  in  Kensington 
Gardens.  He  had  chosen  the  lower  path  running  parallel 
with  Kensington  Gore,  which  leads,  between  flowerborders 
and  thickset  belts  of  shrubbery,  from  the  Broad  Walk  to 
the  railings  enclosing  the  open  space  around  the  Albert 
Memorial.  This  path,  being  sheltered  and  furnished  with 
many  green  garden  seats,  is  specially  nurse  and  baby 
haunted,  and  it  was  to  see  the  babies,  whether  sturdily  on 
foot  or  seated  in  their  little  carriages,  that  George  Love- 
grove  had  come  hither,  being  sad.  Thrushes  sang  lustily 
from  the  treetops.  The  flowerborders  grew  resplendent 
with  polyanthus,  crocus  yellow,  purple,  and  white,  with 
early  daffodils,  and  the  heaven  blue  of  scilla  sibirlca. 
Above,  here  and  there  a  froth  of  almond  or  cherry  blossom 
overspread  the  dark  twigs  and  branches,  while  a  ruddiness 
of  burgeoning  buds  flushed  the  great  elms.  But  babies  of 
position,  looking  like  tiny  pink-faced  polar  bears,  still 
wore  their  long  leggings  and  white  furs,  the  March  wind 
being  treacherous.  They  galloped,  trumpeting,  the  clean 
air  and  merry  sunshine  going  to  their  heads  in  the  most 
inebriating  fashion.  It  was  early,  moreover,  so  that  they 
were  full  of  the  energy  of  a  .good  night's  sleep,  of  break- 
fast, and  of  comfortable  nursery  warmth.  And  George 
Lovegrove  stepped  among  them  carefully,  watching  their 
gambols  moist-eyed,  nervously  anxious  lest  his  quaintly 
solid  figure  should  obstruct  the  erratic  progress  of  toy- 
horse,  or  hoop,  or  ball.  He  craved  for  notice,  for  even 
the  veriest  scrap  of  friendly  recognition,  yet  was  too 
diffident  to  attempt  any  direct  intercourse  with  these  delec- 
table small  personages,  who,  on  their  part,  were  royally  in- 

233 


234  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

different  to  his  existence  so  long  as  he  did  not  get  in  their 
way.  This  he  clearly  perceived,  yet  for  it  bore  them  no 
ill-will,  preferring,  as  does  every  truly  devout  lover,  to 
worship  the  beloved  from  a  respectful  distance  rather  than 
not  worship  at  all. 

And  it  was  thus,  even  as  a  large  and  dusky  elephant 
picking  its  way  very  gently  through  a  flock  of  skippeting 
and  lively  lambs,  that  Mr.  Iglesias,  entering  the  sheltered 
walk  from  the  far  end,  first  caught  sight  of  him.  To 
Dominic,  it  must  be  admitted,  babies,  song-birds,  burgeon- 
ing buds  and  blossoms,  alike  presented  themselves  as  but 
elements  in  the  setting  of  the  outward  scene — a  scene  sweet 
enough  had  one  leisure  to  contemplate  it,  touched  by  the 
genial  vernal  influence,  witness  to  nature's  undying  youth. 
But  his  appreciation  of  that  sweetness  was  just  now  cursory 
and  indirect.  His  thought  was  absorbed  and  eager,  pene- 
trated by  apprehension  of  matters  lying  above  and  beyond 
the  range  of  ordinary  human  speech.  For  he  was  in  that 
exalted  interval  of  a  many  hours'  fast  when  the  spiritual 
intelligence  is  wholly  alive  and  awake,  the  body  becoming 
but  the  vesture  of  the  soul — a  vesture  without  impediment 
or  weight,  a  beautifully  negligible  quantity  in  the  general 
scheme  of  existence.  Later  reaction  sets  in.  The  claims 
of  the  body  become  dominant;  and  the  exalted  moment  is 
too  often  paid  for  sorrowfully  enough  in  sluggish  brain 
and  irritated  nerves.  Dominic,  however,  had  not  reached 
that  stage  of  the  tragi-comedy  of  the  marriage  of  flesh 
and  spirit.  He  was  happy,  with  the  white  unearthly  hap- 
piness of  those  who  have  been  admitted  to  the  Sacred 
Mysteries.  And  it  was  not  without  a  sense  of  shock,  as 
of  rough  descent  to  common  things,  of  pity  and  of  regret, 
that  he  recognised  good  George  Lovegrove  cruising  thus, 
elephantine,  among  the  roystering  babes.  Then  Iglesias 
checked  himself  sternly.  To  humble  themselves,  remember- 
ing their  own  great  unworthiness,  to  come  down  from  the 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  235 

if 

Mount  of  Transfiguration  to  the  dwellers  in  the  plain,  and 
be  gentle  and  human  towards  them — this  surely  is  the 
primary  duty  of  those  who  have  assisted  at  the  Divine 
Sacrament?  And  so  Iglesias  went  forward  and  hailed  his 
old  school-fellow  in  all  tenderness  and  friendship,  causing 
the  latter  to  raise  his  eyes  from  pathetic  contemplation  of 
thosje  charming  but  wholly  self-absorbed  small  human  ani- 
mals, and  look  up. 

"  Dominic !  "  he  cried.  "  Well,  to  be  sure,  you  do  sur- 
prise me.  Who  would  have  expected  to  meet  you  out  at 
this  hour  of  the  morning?  I  do  congratulate  myself.  I 
am  pleased,"  he  said.  His  honest  face  beamed,  his  fresh 
colour  deepened.  As  a  girl  at  the  unlooked-for  advent  of 
her  lover,  he  grew  confused  and  shy.  And  Iglesias  warmed 
towards  him.  Whimsical  in  appearance,  simple-minded, 
not  greatly  skilled  in  any  sort  of  learning,  yet  he  had  a 
heart  of  gold — about  that  there  could  be  no  manner  of 
doubt. 

"  Turn  back  then,  and  let  us  walk  together,"  Iglesias 
said  affectionately.  "  It  is  a  long  while  since  we  have  had 
a  quiet  talk — that  is,  of  course,  if  you  have  no  particular 
business  which  calls  you  to  town." 

"  I  have  no  business  of  any  description,"  he  answered. 
"  And  between  ourselves,  Dominic,  since  I  lost  my  seat  on 
the  borough  council,  I  have  had  too  much  time  on  my  hands, 
I  think.  It  is  beginning  to  be  quite  a  trouble  with  me." 

"  Is  life  too  softly  padded,  too  dead-level  easy  and  com- 
fortable? "  Iglesias  inquired.  "  Are  you  beginning  to 
quarrel  a  little  with  your  blessings  ?  " 

George  Lovegrove  became  very  serious. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  I  am  afraid  you  are  right.  As  usual 
you  have  laid  your  finger  on  the  spot.  I  do  reproach  my- 
self for  unthankfulness  often.  I  know  I  have  a  good  home, 
and  everything  decent  and  respectable  about  me;  more  so, 
indeed,  than  a  man  in  my  position  has  any  right  to  expect. 


THE     FAR     HORIZON 

!A!nd  yet  I  regret  the  old  days  in  the  city,  Dominic,  that  J 
do.  I  should  enjoy  to  be  back  at  my  old  desk  at  the  bank 
— just  the  little  snap  of  anxiety  in  the  morning  as  to 
whether  one  would  catch  the  'bus ;  the  long  ride  through  the 
streets  with  one's  morning  paper ;  the  turning  out  with  the 
other  clerks — good  fellows  all  of  them,  on  the  whole,  were 
they  not  ? — to  get  a  snack  of  lunch.  And  then  the  coming 
home  at  night,  with  some  trifling  present  or  dainty  to  please 
the  wife;  and  a  look  round  the  greenhouse  and  garden 
afterwards  in  your  lounge  suit;  and  hearing  and  retailing 
all  the  day's  news,  and  talking  of  the  good  time  coming 
when  you  would  retire  and  be  quite  the  independent  gentle- 
man ;  and  the  half -day  on  Saturday,  too,  taking  some  nice 
little  outing  to  Richmond  or  Kew,  or  an  exhibition  or  some- 
thing of  the  sort,  and  then  the  Sunday's  rest." 

He  hesitated  and  sighed,  looking  wistfully  at  the  white- 
clad  babies. 

"  If  one  had  two  or  three  of  those  little  people  of  one's 
own  it  might  be  very  different — though  I  would  never 
breathe  a  word  of  such  a  thought  to  the  wife.  Females 
are  so  easily  upset;  and  if  it  raises  regrets  in  us  men,  it 
must  be  much  more  trying  for  them,  poor  things,  to  be 
childless.  But  where  was  I?  Yes,  well  now  the  good  time 
has  come — and  I  feel  a  criminal  in  saying  so,  but  it  appears 
to  me  to  be  growing  stale  already,  Dominic.  It  was  better 
in  anticipation  than  in  fact.  I  am  an  ungrateful  fellow, 
that  I  am,  I  know  it ;  but  sometimes  I  am  inclined  to  ask 
myself  whether  all  the  things  we  set  such  fond  hopes  on 
are  not  like  that." 

"  No,  not  all,"  Iglesias  answered,  with  a  certain  sub- 
dued enthusiasm.  "  There  are  things — a  few — which 
never  grow  stale.  One  may  build  on  them  as  on  a  founda- 
tion of  rock.  If  they  ever  seem  to  fail  us,  to  be  shaken 
and  overthrown,  it  is  an  evil  delusion,  and  the  cause  lies 
not  in  them  but  in  ourselves.  It  is  we  who  fail,  who  are 


tf  THE     FAR    HORIZON 

shaken  and  overthrown  through  palsied  will  and  feebleness 
of  faith.  They  remain  forever  inviolate." 

"  I  suppose  so,"  the  other  man  said  timidly.  He  was 
unused  to  such  vehemence  of  assertion  on  the  part  of  his 
friend.  He  wondered  to  what  it  could  refer.  His 
thought,  carrying  back  to  the  evening  at  the  theatre, 
played  around  visions  of  distinguished  amours.  Then  he 
steadied  himself  to  heroic  resolve. 

"  I  suppose  it  is,"  he  repeated,  "  and  that  makes  my 
conduct  appear  all  the  more  discreditable  to  me.  My  cir- 
cumstances are  too  comfortable  and  easy.  It  is  just  that. 
And  so  I  take  to  fretting  over  trifles  and  seeing  slights  and 
unkindness  where  none  were  intended."  He  looked  up  at 
Iglesias,  his  squinting  eyes  full  of  apology  and  admiration. 
"  Yes,  I  am  sadly  poor-spirited  and  I  have  no  excuse.  I 
have  been  nursing  a  sense  of  injury  towards  those  to  whom 
I  have  most  occasion  for  gratitude — the  wife  and  you. 
Dominic,  believe  me,  I  am  heartily  ashamed  of  myself." 

"  Come,  come,"  Iglesias  answered,  brought  very  much 
back  to  earth,  yet  touched  and  softened.  "  My  dear 
friend,  you  of  all  men  have  small  cause  for  self-reproach. 
In  every  relation  of  life — and  our  knowledge  of  one  another 
dates  back  to  early  youth — I  have  found  you  perfect  in 
loyalty  and  unselfish  kindness." 

George  Lovegrove  walked  on  for  a  moment  in  silence. 
He  had  to  clear  his  throat  once  or  twice  before  he  could 
command  his  voice. 

"  Praise  from  you  is  very  encouraging,"  he  managed  to 
say  at  last.  "  But  I  am  afraid  I  do  not  deserve  it.  I 
have  felt  mortified  lately  sometimes,  and  I  am  afraid  en- 
vious. I — but  after  your  last  words  I  am  more  than  ever 
ashamed  to  own  it — I  have  fancied  that  you  were  becoming 
distant  and  that  an  estrangement  was  growing  up  between 
us.  Of  course  I  have  always  understood,  though  we  hap- 
pened to  be  school-fellows  and  in  the  same  employment 


238  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

afterward,  that  your  position  and  mine  were  different. 
And  I  want  you  to  know  that  I  would  never  be  a  clog  on 
you,  Dominic  " — he  spoke  with  an  admirably  simple  dig- 
nity— "  believe  me,  I  never  would  be  that.  Lately  I  have 
been  troubled  by  the  thought  that  I  had  extracted  a 
promise  from  you  to  remain  at  Trimmer's  Green.  Now  I 
beg  of  you  most  earnestly  not  to  let  that  promise,  given  in 
a  moment  of  generous  indulgence,  weigh  with  you  in  the 
slightest,  if  circumstances  have  arisen  which  point  at  your 
residing  in.  a  more  fashionable  part  of  the  town." 

"  But  why  should  I  want  to  go  to  a  more  fashionable 
part  of  London?  "  Iglesias  asked,  smiling. 

"  Well,  you  see,"  the  other  returned,  his  face  growing 
furiously  red,  "  it  came  to  my  knowledge,  unexpectedly, 
that  you  have  acquaintances  in  quite  another  walk  of  life 
to  ours — the  wife's  and  mine,  I  mean.  And  it  would  pain 
me  deeply,  very  deeply,  Dominic,  that  any  promise  given 
to  me,  regarding  your  place  of  residence,  should  stand  be- 
tween you  and  mixing  as  freely  with  those  acquaintances 
as  you  might  otherwise  do." 

They  had  come  to  the  place  where  the  sheltered  pathway 
is  crossed  by  the  Broad  Walk — the  upward  trend  of  which 
showed  blond,  in  the  sunshine,  against  the  brilliant  green 
of  the  grass  and  the  dark  boles  of  the  great  trees  border- 
ing it.  Here  Iglesias  paused.  He  was  not  altogether 
pleased. 

"  I  do  not  quite  follow  you,"  he  said  coldly.  Then  look- 
ing at  the  guileless  and  faithful  being  beside  him,  he  soft- 
ened once  more.  Was  it  not  only  more  just,  but  more 
honourable,  to  treat  this  matter  with  candour?  "  You 
are  alluding  to  the  lady  who  was  good  enough  to  send  for 
me  the  night  you  and  Miss  Lovegrove  went  with  me  to  the 
play?" 

"  Yes,"  the  excellent  George  assented  in  a  strangled 
voice.  He  wanted  to  know  badly.  He  was  agonised  by 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  239 


• 


fear  of  having  committed  an  indiscretion  offensive  to  his 
idol. 

"  Set  your  mind  quite  at  rest  on  that  point  then,  my  dear 
friend.  Her  world  is  not  my  world  and  never  will  be.  In 
it  I  should  be  very  much  out  of  place." 

Iglesias  moved  forward  again,  crossing  the  Broad  Walk 
and  making  towards  the  small  iron  gate,  at  the  lower  corner 
of  the  Gardens,  which  opens  on  to  Kensington  High  Street. 
But  he  walked  slowly,  becoming  conscious  that  he  grew 
tired  and  spent.  The  glory  of  the  spirit  dominant  was  de- 
parting, the  tyranny  of  the  body  dominant  beginning  to 
reassert  itself.  His  features  contracted  slightly.  He  felt 
unreasoningly  sad. 

George  Lovegrove  walked  beside  him  in  silence,  his  eyes 
downcast,  his  heart  stirred  by  vague  tumultuous  sympathy, 
his  modest  nature  at  once  inflamed  and  abashed,  recognis- 
ing in  his  companion  the  hero  of  an  exalted  and  tragic 
romance. 

"  Well,  he  looks  it.  It  suits  his  character  and  appear- 
ance," he  said  to  himself,  adding  aloud — for  the  very  life 
of  him  he  could  not  help  it — "  But  she  was  very  beautiful, 
Dominic." 

"  Yes,"  Iglesias  answered,  "  she  is  beautiful  and  very 
clever  and — very  unhappy." 

The  good  George's  heart  positively  thumped  against  his 
ribs.  "  And  to  think  of  all  the  plans  the  wife  and  I  have 
been  making !  "  he  said  to  himself. 

"  If  she  wants  me,  she  will  send  for  me,"  Iglesias  con- 
tinued quietly,  "  and  I  shall  go  to  her  at  once,  as  I  went 
that  evening,  without  hesitation  or  delay,  wherever  she 
may  be.  But,"  he  added,  "  it  becomes  increasingly  improb- 
able that  she  will  send  for  me.  I  have  not  seen  her  or 
heard  from  her  since  that  night.  And  so,  my  dear  friend, 
you  perceive  that  your  kindly  fears  of  having  circum- 
scribed my  liberty  of  choice  in  respect  of  a  place  of  resi- 


240  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

dence  are  quite  unfounded.  I  have  no  reason  for  leaving 
Cedar  Lodge  or  altering  my  accustomed  habits." 

Iglesias  smiled  affectionately,  as  dismissing  the  whole 
matter. 

"  And  now,"  he  continued,  "  that  little  misunderstanding 
being  cleared  up,  will  you  mind  my  turning  into  the 
restaurant  just  here,  in  High  Street,  for  a  cup  of  coffee 
and  a  roll?  I  have  not  breakfasted  yet." 

Whereupon  George  Lovegrove  pranced  before  him,  in- 
coherent in  kindly  remonstrance  and  advice. 

"  At  11  A.  M.,  and  after  your  severe  indisposition  at 
Christmas,  too,  out  walking  on  an  empty  stomach!  It  is 
positively  suicidal.  Where  have  you  been  to?  "  he  cried. 

"  To  Mass,"  Iglesias  answered,  still  smiling,  though  with 
something  of  a  fighting  light  in  his  eyes  and  a  lift  of  his 
head. 

His  companion  stared  at  him  in  blank  amazement. 

"To  what?"  he  said. 

"  To  Mass,"  Iglesias  repeated.  "  I  have  been  waiting 
for  a  suitable  opportunity  to  speak  to  you  of  this,  George. 
I,  too,  have  felt  the  weight,  of  enforced  leisure.  It  has  not 
been  a  particularly  cheerful  experience;  but  it  has  given 
me  time  to  read,  and  still  more  to  think,  with  the  conse- 
quence that  I  have  returned  to  the  faith  of  my  childhood. 
I  have  made  my  peace  with  the  Church." 

They  continued  to  walk  slowly  onward;  but  George 
Lovegrove  drew  away  to  the  further  side  of  the  path  as 
though  contact  might  be  dangerous,  as  though  infection 
•was  hanging  about.  .He  kept  his  eyes  averted,  his  head 
bent. 

"  You  do  surprise  me,"  he  said  at  last.  "  I  had  not  the 
slightest  inkling  that  you  were  contemplating  such  a  step. 
I  give  you  my  word,  you  have  fairly  taken  away  my  breath. 
I  do  not  seem  to  be  able  to  grasp  it,  that  you,  whom  I  have 
always  looked  up  to  as  so  mentally  superior,  so  independent 


THE     FAR     HORIZON 

in  your  thought,  should  have  become  a  Romanist — for  that 
is  your  meaning,  I  take  it,  Dominic  ?  " 

"  Yes,  that  is  my  meaning,"  Iglesias  answered. 

"  You  do  surprise  me,"  George  Lovegrove  said  again 
presently,  and  in  a  lamentable  voice.  "  My  mind  refuses 
to  grasp  it.  I  would  rather  have  lost  five  hundred  pounds 
than  have  heard  this.  I  declare  I  am  fairly  unmanned. 
I  have  never  received  a  greater  shock." 

Iglesias  remained  silent.  He  was  weary  and  sad.  But 
he  straightened  himself,  trying  to  keep  his  gaze  fixed 
steadily  upon  the  far  horizon  where  dwells  the  everlasting 
light. 

"  It  is  presumptuous  in  me  to  criticise  your  action,  per- 
haps," his  companion  continued.  "  I  never  did  such  a 
thing  before,  having  always  hesitated  to  set  up  my  views 
against  yours ;  but  I  cannot  but  fear  you  have  made  a  sad 
mistake.  And  if  you  were  contemplating  any  change  of 
this  kind,  why  did  you  not  come  into  our  own  national  Eng- 
lish Church?  " 

"  Very  much  because  it  is  English  and  national,  I 
think,"  he  answered.  "  In  my  opinion  there  is  an  inherent 
falsity  of  conception  in  subjecting  our  approach  to  the 
Absolute  to  restrictions  imposed  by  country  or  by  race,  if 
these  can,  by  any  means,  be  avoided.  Why  hamper  yourself 
with  a  late,  expurgated,  and  mutilated  edition,  when  the 
original,  in  all  its  splendour  and  historic  completeness, 
bearing  the  sign-manual  of  the  Author,  is  there  ready  to 
your  hand?  " 

Again  Iglesias  spoke  with  subdued  but  unmistakable  en- 
thusiasm. The  two  friends  had  just  reached  the  iron  gate 
leading  into  High  Street.  Here  George  Lovegrove 
stopped.  He  still  kept  carefully  at  a  distance,  averting  his 
eyes  as  from  some  distressing,  even  disgraceful,  sight, 
while  his  good  honest  face  worked  with  emotion. 

"  I  think  if  you  will  kindly  excuse  me,  I  will  go  no. 


THE     FAR     HORIZON 

farther,"  he  faltered.  "  What  you  say  may  be  true — I 
am  sure  I  don't  know.  It  is  all  beyond  me.  But  I  should 
prefer  not  to  talk  any  more  about  it  until  I  have  accustomed 
myself  to  the  thought  of  this  change  in  you.  Nothing 
does  come  between  people  like  religion,"  he  added  with  un- 
conscious irony.  "  So  I  think,  if  you  will  kindly  excuse 
me,  I  will  just  go  away,  Dominic." 

And,  without  more  ado,  he  turned  back  into  the  Gardens. 

The  small  polar  bears,  meanwhile,  satiated  with  exercise, 
air,  and  light,  had  begun  to  grow  restive  and  f retty.  Their 
stomachs  cried  cupboardwards,  and  they  were  disposed  to 
filch  each  other's  toy  horses  and  hoops,  and  use  each  other's 
small  persons  as  targets  for  balls,  thrown  as  bombs  in  a 
fashion  far  from  polite.  Anxious  maids  and  nurses  hunted 
them  homewards,  not  without  slight  asperity  on  the  one 
part,  on  the  other  occasional  squealings  and  free  fights. 
But  upon  the  babies,  engaging  even  in  naughtiness,  George 
Lovegrove  had  ceased  to  bestow  any  attention.  He  went 
forward  blindly,  cruising  among  them  and  their  attendants 
and  smart  little  carriages,  elephantine,  careless  where  he 
placed  his  feet,  to  the  obstruction  of  traffic  and  heightening 
of  general  annoyance,  as  sorrowful  a  man  as  any  would 
need  to  meet.  For  it  seemed  to  him  things  had  gone  wrong, 
just  then,  past  all  hope  of  setting  right.  His  idol,  light 
of  his  eyes  and  joy  of  his  guileless  heart,  had  fallen  from  his 
high  estate,  discovering  capacity  of  playing  the  most  dis- 
creditable and  soul-harrowing  pranks.  Prejudice  is 
myriad-lived  here  on  earth;  and  in  George  Lovegrove  all 
the  bigotry,  all  the  semi-superstitious  terror  fostered  by 
the  accumulated  ignorance  which  generations  of  Protestant 
forefathers  have  bequeathed  to  the  English  middle-class, 
reared  itself,  not  only  stubborn,  but  militant.  His 
thought  travelled  back  to  those  barbarities  of  rougher  ages 
which  are,  in  point  of  fact,  more  common  to  the  secular 
than  to  the  religious  criminal  code;  but  which  Protestant 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  243 


teachers,  even  yet,  find  it  convenient  to  put  down  wholly 
to  the  account  of  the  Catholic  Church.  Practically  igno- 
rant of  the  spoliation  and  persecution  practised  under 
Henry  the  Eighth — of  blessed  domestic  memory — of  the 
further  persecution  which  disfigured  the  "  spacious  days 
of  great  Elizabeth,"  not  to  mention  the  long  and  shameful 
history  of  the  Penal  Laws,  he  fixed  his  mind  upon  lurid 
legends  of  the  reign  of  unhappy  Mary  Tudor,  illustrated 
by  prints  in  Fox's  Book  of  Martyrs;  upon  inquisitorial  tor- 
tures, the  very  thought  of  which — even  out  of  doors  in 
the  pleasant  spring  sunshine — made  him  break  into  a  heavy 
sweat,  and  which,  by  some  grotesque  perversion  of  ideas, 
he  believed  to  be  not  only  the  necessary  outcome  of,  but 
vitally  essential  to,  the  practice  of  the  Faith.  Against 
this  hideous  background  he  set  the  calm  and  stately  figure 
of  his  beloved  friend  Iglesias — seeing  him  no  longer  as  the 
faithful  comrade  of  more  than  half  a  lifetime,  but  as  a 
foreign  being,  an  unknown  quantity,  a  worshipper  of 
graven  images,  a  participant  in  blasphemous  rites,  a  be- 
liever, in  short,  in  just  all  that  which  sound,  respectable, 
and  godly  British  common  sense  cast  forth,  with  scorn  and 
contumely,  close  on  four  centuries  back.  He  was  fright- 
ened. His  everyday,  comfortable,  jog-trot,  little  odd  and 
end  of  a  local  parochial  suburban  middle-class  world  was 
literally  turned  upside  down  and  inside  out. 

"  And  however  will  the  wife  take  it — however  will  she 
take  it  ?  "  he  mourned  to  himself.  "  To  think  we  have  been 
harbouring  a  Papist  in  disguise!  I  dare  not  contemplate 
her  feelings.  She  will  be  upset.  I  must  keep  it  from  her 
as  long  as  possible.  And  Serena,  too,  and  Susan !  I  don't 
know  how  I  can  face  them.  Females  are  so  very  eloquent 
when  put  out.  Of  course  I  have  known  there  was  some- 
thing wrong  for  a  long  time  past.  I  saw  there  was  a 
change  in  him,  and  felt  there  was  some  cause  of  coldness ; 
but  it  never  entered  my  head  it  could  be  as  bad  as  this. 


244  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

Oh !  my  poor,  dear  friend.  Oh !  my  poor  Dominic,  perhaps 
I  have  been  overattached  to  you  and  this  comes  as  a 
judgment.  It  would  be  hard  enough  to  have  anything 
break  up  our  friendship,  but  this  folly,  this  dreadful  dot- 
ing apostasy " 

He  walked  on  blindly  along  the  sheltered  path  between 
the  flower-borders,  deaf  to  remonstrant  nurses  and  scorn- 
ful, beautiful  babes  clothed  in  spotless  white. 

"  If  anything  must  come  between  us  I  would  rather  it 
was  a  woman,"  he  mourned,  "  ten  thousand  times  rather, 
whoever  and  whatever  she  was,  than  this." 


IT  happened  on  the  afternoon  of  that  same  day  that  Eliza 
Hart,  in  pursuance  of  her  domestic  avocations,  had  occa- 
sion to  go  into  Mr.  Farge's  room  on  the  first  floor  to  lay 
out  a  new  coverlet  on  his  bed.  When,  as  thus,  compelled 
to  enter  the  apartments  of  either  of  the  gentleman  guests 
of  the  establishment  it  was  her  practice  to  leave  the  door 
half  open,  as  a  concession  to  propriety  in  the  abstract  and 
a  testimony  to  her  own  discretion  in  the  concrete.  The 
handsome  mahogany  doors  of  Cedar  Lodge,  unhappily 
painted  white  by  some  vandal  of  a  former  inhabitant,  being 
heavy  were  hung  on  a  rising  hinge.  Hence,  when  half 
open,  a  space  of  some  three  inches  was  left  between  the  back 
of  the  door  and  the  j  amb,  through  which  it  was  easy  to  get 
a  good  view  of  the  hall  or  the  landing  unobserved.  Little 
Mr.  Farge  professed  a  warm  predilection  for  gay  colours, 
and  Eliza  had  selected  the  new  bedspread  with  an  eye  to 
this  fact.  It  was  of  bright  raspberry-red  cotton  twill,  en- 
riched with  a  broad  printed  border  in  a  flowing  design  of 
lemon-yellow  tulips  and  bottle-green  leaves.  The  sales- 
man, in  exhibiting  it  to  her,  had  described  it  as  "  very 
chaste  and  pleasing."  Eliza  herself  qualified  it  as 
"  tasty  " ;  and  had  just  disposed  it,  much  to  her  own  satis- 
faction, upon  the  young  man's  bed,  when  her  attention 
was  arrested  by  the  tones  of  an  unknown  feminine  voice  in 
the  hall  below.  Shortly  afterwards  she  heard  Frederick, 
the  valet's  large  footsteps  hurtling  upstairs  at  a  double, 
followed  by  a  prolonged  and  leisurely  whispering  of  silken 
skirts.  Here,  clearly,  was  a  matter  into  which,  for  the 
reputation  of  Cedar  Lodge,  it  was  desirable  to  look  with- 
out delay.  Eliza,  therefore,  moved  to  the  near  side  of  the 

245 


246  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

door,  and,  through  the  three-Inch  aperture  afforded  by  the 
rising  hinge,  raked  the  landing  with  a  vigilant  eye. 

The  door  of  Mr.  Iglesias'  sitting-room  immediately  op- 
posite stood  open.  In  the  doorway  Frederick  indulged  in 
explanatory  gesticulation.  While,  slowly  ascending  the 
last  treads  of  the  stairs,  was  a  lady  of  unmistakable  ele- 
gance, arrayed  in  a  large  black  hat  with  drooping  plumes 
to  it,  a  sable  cape — the  price  of  which,  Eliza  felt  assured, 
ran  easily  into  three  figures — and  a  black  cloth  dress  in 
the  cut  of  which  she  read  the  last  word  of  contemporary 
fashion.  Arrived  at  the  stair-head  the  intruder  stood  still, 
calmly  surveying  her  surroundings,  presenting,  as  she 
turned  her  head,  a  pale  face,  very  red  lips,  and  eyes — so  at 
least  it  appeared  to  the  vigilant  orbs  of  Eliza — quite  im- 
modestly large  and  lustrous,  melancholy  and  somehow  ex- 
tremely impertinent,  too.  Then  Mr.  Iglesias  emerged  from 
his  sitting-room,  an  expression  upon  his  countenance  which 
startled  Eliza.  She  very  certainly  had  never  seen  it  before. 
For  a  moment  the  lady  looked  up  at  him,  as  though  silently 
asking  some  question.  Then  she  patted  him  lightly  upon 
the  back,  and  passed  into  the  sitting-room  hand  in  hand 
with  him,  while  Frederick  with  his  best  flourish  closed  the 
door. 

"  Well,  of  all  the  things !  "  cried  Eliza,  half  aloud ;  and, 
oblivious  both  of  discretion  and  of  the  new  raspberry-red 
cotton  twill  coverlet,  she  backed,  and  sat,  plump,  upon  the 
edge  of  the  bed.  Just  then,  as  she  asserted  in  subsequently 
recounting  this  remarkable  incident,  you  might  have 
knocked  her  down  with  a  feather. 

"  Of  all  the  things  J "  she  repeated,  after  an  interval  of 
breathless  amazement.  "  And  how  long  has  this  been  go- 
ing on,  I  should  like  to  know?  So  that  is  the  reason  of  a 
certain  gentleman's  iciness,  and  his  stand-offish  high- 
mightiness.  Well,  I  never!  And  poor  darling  Peachie, 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  247 

y 

so  trustful  and  confiding  all  the  time;  not  that  she  need 

fear  comparison  with  anybody. — Bah !  the  serpent." 

Nevertheless  she  was  deeply  impressed,  and  fell  into  a 
vein  of  furious  speculation  as  to  who  this  unlooked-for 
smart  lady  might  be.  Then,  suddenly  remembering  the 
highly  compromising  nature  of  her  own  existing  position 
sitting  not  only  in  the  lively  little  Farge's  bed-chamber, 
but  actually  upon  his  bed,  she  rose  with  embarrassment  and 
haste,  and  made  her  way  downstairs  to  the  offices — treading 
circumspectly  in  dread  of  creaking  boards — to  interview 
Frederick.  But  from  that  functionary  she  obtained  scant 
information. 

"  Zee  lady  she  ask  for  Mr.  Iglesias.  I  tell  her  I  go  to 
find  him.  I  put  her  in  zee  drawing-room." 

"  Quite  right,  Frederick," — this  encouragingly  from 
Eliza. 

"  But  she  no  stay  zere.  She  come  again  out  quick.  She 
not  any  name,  not  any  visiting  card  give ;  only  write  some- 
zing,  very  fast,  on  a  piece  of  paper  and  screw  it  togezzer. 
Zen  she  not  wait  till  I  return,  but  behind  me  upstairs  chase." 

So  there  was  nothing  for  it,  as  the  great  Eliza  perceived, 
but  to  retire  to  the  drawing-room,  and — Mrs.  Porcher  hap- 
pened to  be  out — note  the  hour  and,  with  the  door  discreetly 
half  open,  await  the  descent  of  the  intruder  from  the  floor 
above. 

"  I  can  just  catch  darling  Peachie,  too,"  she  said  to 
herself,  "  and  draw  her  aside.  To  meet  such  a  person  un- 
expectedly, on  the  stairs  or  in  the  hall,  would  be  enough  to 
make  her  turn  quite  faint." 


CHAPTER    XXV 

POPPY  ST.  JOHN  laid  her  hands  lightly  on  Mr.  Iglesias' 
shoulders  and  smiled  at  him.  She  looked  very  young,  yet 
very  worn ;  and  the  corners  of  her  mouth  shook. 

"  If  you  were  anybody  else,"  she  said,  "  I  believe  I 
should  give  you  a  kiss.  But  I  am  not  going  to,  so  don't 
be  nervous,  dear  man.  I'll  be  perfectly  correct,  I  promise 
you — only  I  had  to  come.  I  have  been  good,  absolutely 
tiptop  beastly  good,  I  tell  you.  I  have  washed  the  slate. 
It  is  as  clean  as  a  vacuum,  as  the  inside  of  an  exhausted 
receiver.  And  I  feel  as  dull  as  empty  space  before  the 
creation  got  started." 

Poppy  shivered  a  little,  putting  one  hand  over  her  eyes, 
and  resting  her  head  with  its  great  black  hat  and  sweep- 
ing plumes  against  Mr.  Iglesias*  chest.  And  Iglesias 
quietly  put  his  arm  round  her,  supporting  her.  The  day 
had  been  full  of  experiences.  This  last,  though  of  a 
notably  different  complexion  to  the  rest,  promised  to  be  by 
no  means  the  least  searching  and  surprising.  Iglesias 
steadied  himself  to  take  it  quite  calmly,  in  his  stride ;  yet 
his  jaw  grew  rigid  and  his  face  blanched  in  dread  of  that 
which  might  be  coming. 

"  I  have  sent  Alaric  Barking  about  his  business,"  Poppy 
continued  hoarsely.  "  Sent  him  back  to  his  soldiering, 
helped  to  cart  him  off  to  that  rotten  hole,  South  Africa. 
He  is  a  smart  officer,  and  he'll  make  a  name,  if  he  don't  get 
shot.  And  he  won't  get  shot — I  should  feel  it  in  my  bones 
if  he'  was  going  to,  and  I  don't  feel  it.  I  broke  with  him 
more  than  a  month  ago.  But  I  had  to  see  him  again  to 
say  good-bye,  this  morning,  before  he  sailed." 

Poppy  moved  a  step  or  two  away,  turning  her  back  on 
Iglesias. 

248 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  249 

"  And  it  hurt  a  jolly  lot  more  than  I  expected.  I  don't 
suppose  I  am  in  love  " — she  looked  around  inquiringly  at 
him,  as  though  expecting  him  to  solve  the  complicated  prob- 
lem of  her  affections.  "  It's  not  likely  at  this  time  of 
day,  is  it?  But  I  was  fonder  of  Alaric  than  I  quite  knew. 
He  is  a  good  sort,  and  we  have  had  some  ripping  times 
together.  He  had  become  a  sort  of  habit,  you  know ;  and 
when  you  have  knocked  about  a  lot,  as  I  have,  you  get 
rather  sick  at  the  notion  of  any  change." 

She  stood,  looking  down,  leisurely  unbuttoning  and  pull- 
ing off  her  long  gloves. 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  should  have  made  up  my  mind 
to  sack  him  in  the  end,  but  that  I  wanted  to  please  Fallow- 
feild." 

Mr.  Iglesias  became  very  tall.  His  expression  was  hard, 
his  eyes  alight.  This  the  lady  noted.  She  returned  and 
patted  him  gently  on  the  back  again. 

"  There,  there,  don't  sail  off  on  a  wrong  tack,  my  be- 
loved fire-eater.  Fallowfeild  was  quite  right.  The  game 
was  up,  really  it  was ;  and  he  wanted  me  to  walk  out,  like 
the  gentlemanlike  dog,  so  as  to  avoid  being  kicked  out.  I 
always  knew  the  break  was  bound  to  come  some  time;  and 
it's  a  long  sight  pleasanter  to  break  than  to  be  broken  with, 
don-'t  you  think  so  ? — You  see,  Alaric  has  formed  a  virtuous 
attachment."  Poppy's  lips  took  a  cynical  twist.  "  It 
was  time,  high  time,  he  should,  if  he  meant  to  go  in  for  that 
line  of  business  at  all.  The  young  lady  is  a  niece  of  Fal- 
lowfeild's — a  pretty  little  girl,  really  quite  pretty — I  saw 
her  that  night  we  were  both  at  the  play — all  new,  and  pink 
and  white,  and  well-bred,  and  mgenue,  and  in  every  respect 
perfectly  suitable." 

Poppy  looked  mutinously,  even  mischievously,  at  Dom- 
inic Iglesias. 

"  Poor,  dear  old  Alaric,"  she  said.  "  I  don't  quarrel 
with  him.  His  elder  brother's  no  children,  and  there  are 


250  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

pots  and  pots  of  money.  That  he  should  want  to  marry, 
and  that  his  people  should  press  it  on  him,  is  perfectly 
natural,  and  obvious,  and  proper." 

"  But,"  Dominic  asked  fiercely,  "  if  this  young  man, 
Captain  Barking,  proposes  to  marry,  why  has  he  not 
married  you — always  supposing  you  were  willing  to  enter- 
tain his  suit?  " 

Poppy  flung  her  long  gloves  upon  the  table,  unhooked 
her  sable  cape  and  sent  it  flying  to  join  them. 

"  Pou-ah !  I'm  hot !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  I  think  I'll  sit 
down,  if  you  have  no  objection.  Yes,  that  chair,  thanks — 
it  looks  excellently  comfortable.  By  the  way,  you've  got 
an  uncommonly  nice  lot  of  things  in  this  room.  I  am 
going  to  make  a  tour  of  inspection  presently.  It  pleases 
me  frightfully  to  see  where  you  live  and  look  at  your 
possessions."  She  stared  absently  at  the  furniture  and 
pictures. — "  But  about  my  marrying  Alaric  Barking,"  she 
continued.  "  Well,  you  see — you  see,  dear  man,  there  is 
an  inconvenient  little  impediment  in  the  shape  of  a 
husband." 

As  she  finished  speaking  Poppy  folded  her  hands  in  her 
lap.  She  sat  perfectly  still,  her  lips  pressed  together, 
watching  Mr.  Iglesias  over  her  shoulder  but  without  turn- 
ing her  head.  He  had  crossed  the  room  and  stood  at  one 
of  the  tall  narrow  windows,  looking  out  into  the  bright 
windy  afternoon. 

For  here  it  was  in  plain  English,  at  last,  that  underlying 
secret  thing  which  he  had  known  yet  dreaded  to  know.  It 
begot  in  him  an  immense  regret  and  inevitable  repulsion  at 
admitted  wrongdoing.  He  made  no  attempt  to  juggle 
with  the  meaning  of  her  words.  Yet,  along  with  them, 
came  a  feeling  of  gladness  that  Poppy  St.  John  would  re- 
main Poppy  St.  John  still;  and  a  movement  of  hope — in- 
timate and  very  tender — since  in  this  tragic  hour  of  her 
history  she  had  come  directly  to  him,  asking  comfort  and 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  251 

sympathy.  Dominic,  cut  to  the  quick  by  the  defection  of 
the  heretofore  ever-faithful  George  Lovegrove,  hailed  with 
a  peculiar  thankfulness  this  mark  of  confidence  and  trust. 
Sinful,  greatly  erring,  still  the  Lady  of  the  Windswept 
Dust  had  returned  to  him ;  and  thereat  he  soberly,  yet  very 
deeply,  rejoiced.  In  truth,  the  sharp-edged  breath  of  per- 
secution he  had  encountered  this  morning,  while  paining 
him,  had  braced  him  to  high  endeavour.  The  Catholic 
Church,  so  he  argued,  must  indeed  be  a  mighty  and  living 
power  since  men  fear  her  so  much.  And  this  power  he  felt 
to  be  behind  him,  sustaining  him,  inciting  him  to  noble  un- 
dertakings— he  strong  in  virtue  of  her  strength,  fearless 
through  the  courage  of  her  saints,  able  with  the  energy  of 
their  accumulated  merit  and  their  prayers.  Again,  as  on 
his  way  home  that  morning  from  hearing  Mass,  the  spirit 
was  dominant,  his  whole  nature  and  outlook  purified  and 
exalted  by  the  Divine  Indwelling.  To  fail  any  human 
creature  calling  on  him  for  help  would  be  contemptible, 
and  even  dastardly,  in  one  blessed  as  he  himself  was.  Thus 
his  relation  to  Poppy  St.  John  fell  into  line.  He  could 
afford  to  love  and  serve  her  well,  since  he  loved  and  pur- 
posed, in  all  things,  to  serve  Almighty  God  best. 

These  meditations  occupied  but  a  few  moments,  yet 
Poppy's  patience  ran  short. 

"  Dominic  Iglesias,"  she  cried  suddenly,  sharply,  "  I  am 
tired  of  waiting." 

He  crossed  the  room  and  stood  in  front  of  her,  serious 
but  light  of  heart. 

"  See  here,  it  is  all  right  between  us?  "  she  asked  impera- 
tively. 

"  Yes,  all  is  perfectly  right  between  us,"  he  answered. 
"  Your  coming  gives  me  the  measure  of  your  faith  in  me. 
I  am  grateful  and  I  am  very  glad." 

"  Ah !  "  Poppy  said  softly. 

She  sat  forward  in  her  chair,  making  herself  small,  pat- 


252  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

ting  her  hands  together,  palm  to  palm,  between  her  knees, 
and  swaying  a  little  as  she  spoke. 

"  You  see,"  she  went  on,  "  to  be  quite  honest,  I  didn't 
break  with  Alaric  simply  to  enable  him  to  marry  and  live 
happy  ever  after.  Nor  did  I  do  it  exclusively  to  please 
Fallowfeild.  It  would  take  a  greater  fool  than  I  am  to  be 
as  altruistic  as  all  that.  I  always  like  to  have  my  run 
for  my  money.  I — I  did  it  more  to  get  you  back." 

She  paused  and  raised  her  head,  looking  full  at  him. 

"  And  I  have  got  you  back  ?  "  she  said. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  smiling.  "  I  ask  nothing  better 
than  to  come  back." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  you  are  prepared  to  take  everything 
on  trust — after  what  I  have  just  told  you — without  want- 
ing explanations  ?  '* 

"  Friendship  has  no  need  of  explanations,"  Iglesias  said, 
with  a  touch  of  grandeur — "  that  is,  as  I  understand 
friendship.  It  accepts  what  is  given  without  question,  or 
cavilling  as  to  much  or  to  little,  leaving  the  giver  alto- 
gether free.  Friendship,  as  I  understand  it,  should  have 
honourable  reticences,  not  only  of  speech  but  of  thought; 
wise  economies  of  proffered  sympathy.  In  its  desire  of 
service  it  should  never  approach  too  near  or  say  the  word 
too  much ;  since,  if  it  is  to  flourish  and  obtain  the  grace  of 
continuance,  it  must  be  rooted  in  reverence  for  the  individ- 
uality of  the  person  dear  to  it.  This  is  my  belief."  His 
bearing  was  courtly,  his  expression  very  gentle.  "  There- 
fore rest  assured  that  whatever  confidence  you  repose  in 
me  is  sacred.  Whatever  confidence  you  withhold  from  me 
is  sacred  likewise." 

Poppy  mused  a  little,  a  smile  on  her  lips  and  an  enig- 
matic look  in  her  singular  eyes. 

"  You're  beautiful,  dear  man,"  she  murmured.  "  You're 
very  beautiful.  You're  worth  chucking  the  devil  over  for ; 
but  you'll  take  a  jolly  lot  of  living  up  to.  So  see  here, 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  253 

if 

you're  bound  to  look  me  up  pretty  constantly  just  at  first, 
for  I  tell  you  life  is  not  going  to  be  exactly  a  toy-shop 
for  me  for  some  little  time  to  come.  You  hear?  You 
promise  ?  " 

"  I  promise,"  Iglesias  returned. 

"  And  there's  another  thing,"  she  continued  rather 
proudly,  "  a  thing  men  too  often  blunder  over — with  the 
very  best  intentions,  bless  them,  only  they  do  blunder,  and 
that  leads  to  ructions.  Please  put  the  question  of  money  out 
of  your  head  once  and  for  all.  I  have  a  certain  amount  of 
my  own,  nothing  princely  well  understood,  but  quite  possi- 
ble to  live  on.  It  was  to  prevent  his  playing  ducks  and 
drakes  with  it  that  I  finally  left  the  jackal  of  a  fellow  whom 
I  married.  Well,  I  have  that,  and  I  have  made  a  little 
more,  one  way  and  another." — Poppy  permitted  herself  a 
wicked  grimace. — "  Poor  old  Alaric  used  to  tell  me  I  was  a 
great  financier  wasted,  that  I  should  have  been  invaluable 
as  partner  in  their  family  banking  concern — that's  more 
than  he'll  ever  be,  poor  chap,  unless  marriage  makes  pretty 
sweeping  changes  in  him.  Some  of  my  sources  of  income 
naturally  are  cut  off  through  the  cleaning  of  the  slate. 
For  I  have  been  tiptop  beastly  good — indeed  I  have,  as 
I  told  you !  No  more  cards,  and  oh  dear,  no  more  racing. 
But  no  doubt  Cappadocia  will  contribute  in  the  way  of 
puppies.  Noblesse  oblige — she  realises  her  duty  towards 
posterity,  does  Cappadocia.  So  I  shall  scrape  along  quite 
tidily.  And  then,  as  long  as  I  keep  my  voice  and  my 
figure,  at  a  push  there's  always  my  profession. — You 
hadn't  arrived  at  the  fact  that  I  had  a  profession?  Such 
is  fame,  dear  man,  such  is  fame.  Why,  I  started  as  a 
child-actress  at  thirteen;  and  -  went  on  till  the  jackal  made 
that  impossible,  like  virtue,  and  self-respect,  and  a  decent 
home,  and  a  few  kindred  trifles  in  favour  of  which  every 
clean-minded  woman  has,  after  all,  a  strongish  prejudice." 

Poppy's  voice  shook.     She  had  much  ado  to  maintain 


THE     FAR     HORIZON 

an  indifferent  and  matter-of-fact  manner.  Iglesias  drew 
up  a  chair  and  sat  down  beside  her.  She  put  out  her  hand, 
taking  his  and  holding  it  quietly. 

"  There,  that's  better,"  she  said.  "  I  feel  babyish.  I 
should  like  a  good  square  cry.  But  I  won't  have  one. 
Don't  be  afraid.  The  motto  is  '  No  snivelling,  full  steam 
ahead.' — But  as  to  the  stage,  I'm  not  sure  that  won't  prove 
the  solution  of  most  difficulties  in  the  end.  Sometimes  it 
pulls  badly  at  my  heartstrings,  and  I  shouldn't  be  half 
sorry  for  an  excuse  for  taking  to  it  again.  It's  a  rotten 
profession  for  a  man,  and  not  precisely  a  soul-saving  one 
for  a  woman.  But  it  gives  you  your  opportunity ;  and,  at 
bottom,  I  suppose  that's  the  main  thing  one  asks  of  life — 
one's  opportunity.  Too,  your  art  is  your  art ;  and  if  it  is 
bred  in  you,  you  sicken  for  it.  I  was  awfully  glad  that 
night  to  see  you  at  the  play,  though  in  a  way  it  shocked 
me.  It  seemed  incongruous.  Tell  me,  do  you  really  care 
for  the  theatre  ?  " 

"To  a  moderate  extent  I  do,"  Dominic  answered.  She 
wanted,  so  he  divined,  to  give  a  lighter  tone  to  the  conver- 
sation. He  tried  to  meet  her  wishes. — "  I  am  not  a  very 
ardent  playgoer,  I  am  afraid.  But  at  the  present  time  I 
happen  to  be  involved  indirectly  in  theatrical  enterprise. 
I  am  interested  in  the  production  of  a  play,  which  I  am 
assured  will  prove  a  remarkable  success." 

"  You're  not  financing  it  ?  "  Poppy  asked  sharply. 

"  Within  certain  limits  I  am,"  he  answered,  smiling. 
"  An  appeal  was  made  to  me  for  help  which  it  would  have 
been  cruel  to  refuse." 

Poppy's  expression  had  become  curiously  sombre,  not  to 
say  stormy.  She  got  up  and  began  to  roam  about  the 
room. 

"  I  hope  to  goodness  the  limits  are  clearly  defined,  and 
very  narrow  ones,  then,"  she  exclaimed.  "  For  my  part  I 
don't  believe  in  talent  which  can't  find  a  market  in  the 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  255 

' 

ordinary  course  of  business.  I  grant  you  managers  some- 
times put  a  play  on  which  is  no  good ;  and  sometimes  cripple 
what  might  be  a  fine  play  by  doctoring  it,  in  deference  to 
the  rulings  of  that  archetype  of  all  maiden  aunts  and  in- 
carnation of  British  hypocrisy,  the  censor ;  but  they  very 
rarely,  in  my  experience,  reject  a  play  which  has  money  in 
it.  -  Why  should  they  ?  Poor  brutes,  they  are  not  exactly 
surfeited  with  masterpieces.  The  play  which  requires  pri- 
vate backing,  though  a  record-breaker  in  the  opinion  of 
its  author,  is  usually  rubbish  in  that  of  the  public.  And 
the  public,  take  it  all  round,  is  very  fairly  level-headed  and 
just;  you  must  not  judge  it  by  the  stupidities  of  the  cen- 
sor. He  represents  only  an  extreme  section  of  it,  if  at 
this  time  of  day  he  really  represents  anybody — a  section 
which  does  the  screaming  sitting  sanctimoniously  at  home, 
getting  its  information  at  second-hand  through  the  papers, 
and  never  darkens  the  doors  of  a  play-house  at  all.  More- 
over, you  must  remember  that  the  public  is  master.  There 
is  no  getting  behind  its  verdict." 

Poppy's  peregrinations  had  brought  her  back  beside  Mr. 
Iglesias  again.  She  patted  him  on  the  shoulder. 

"  See  here,  my  beloved  no-longer-nameless  one,"  she  said. 
"  Be  advised.  Learn  wisdom.  For  I  tell  you  I've  been 
through  that  gate  if  ever  a  woman  has.  The  jackal — I 
wish  to  heaven  we  could  keep  him  out  of  our  talk,  but,  for 
cause  unknown,  he  persistently  obtrudes  himself — he  in- 
variably does  so  when  I'm  hipped  and  edgy — well,  you  see, 
he  was  an  unappreciated  genius  in  the  way  of  a  dramatist, 
from  which  fact  I  derived  first-hand  acquaintance  with  the 
habits  of  the  species.  What  I  don't  know  about  those  ani- 
mals is  not  worth  knowing.  They're  just  simply  vermin, 
I  tell  you.  Their  utter  unprofitableness  is  only  equalled 
by  their  lunatic  vanity.  They  imagine  the  whole  world, 
lay  and  professional,  is  in  league  to  balk  and  defraud  them. 
So  don't  touch  them,  I  entreat  you,  as  you  value  your  peace 


256 

of  mind  and  your  pocket.  They'll  bleed  you  white  and 
never  give  you  a  penn'orth  of  thanks — more  likely  turn 
on  you  and  make  out,  somehow  or  other,  you  are  responsible 
for  the  failure  of  their  precious  productions. — Now  let's 
try  to  forget  them,  and  talk  of  pleasanter  subjects.  These 
obtrusions  of  the  jackal  always  bring  me  bad  luck.  I'm 
downright  scared  at  them. — Tell  me  about  your  goods, 
your  books  and  your  pictures.  And  show  me  something 
which  belonged  to  your  mother — that  is,  if  it  wouldn't 
pain  you  to  do  so.  I  should  like  to  hold  something  she  had 
touched  in  my  hands.  It  would  be  comforting,  somehow. 
And  just  set  that  door  wider  open,  there's  a  dear.  I 
want  to  have  a  look  into  the  other  room  and  see  where  you 
sleep." 

For  the  ensuing  half  hour  Poppy  was  an  enchanting 
companion,  wholly  womanly,  gentle  and  delicate;  eager, 
too,  with  the  pretty  spontaneous  eagerness  of  a  child,  at 
the  recital  of  stories  and  exhibition  of  treasures  beloved  by 
her  companion.  The  lonely  cedar  tree,  lamenting  its  exile 
as  the  wind  swept  through  the  labyrinth  of  its  dry  branches, 
moved  her  almost  to  tears. 

"It  is  tragic,"  she  said;  "  still,  I  am  glad  you  have  it. 
It's  very  much  in  the  picture,  and  lifts  the  sentiment  of  the 
place  out  of  the  awful  suburban  rut.  It's  a  little  symbolic 
of  you  yourself,  too,  Dominic — there's  style,  and  poetry, 
and  breeding  about  it.  Only,  thank  the  powers,  you  differ 
from  it  mightily  in  this,  that  its  best  days  are  over,  while 
you  are  but  in  the  flower  of  your  age.  And  your  rooms 
are  delightful — they're  like  you,  too. — The  rest  of  the 
house?  My  dear  soul,  the  manservant  ushered  me  into  a 
drawing-room,  when  I  arrived,  the  colours  of  which  were 
simply  frantic.  I  bolted.  If  I'd  stayed  another  five  min- 
utes they'd  have  given  me  lockjaw. — Now  I  must  go."  She 
smiled  very  sweetly  upon  Mr.  Iglesias.  "  I'm  better,  ten 
thousand  times  better,"  she  said.  "  When  I  came  I  was 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  257 


rather  extensively  nauseated  by  my  own  virtuous  actions. 
Now  it's  all  square  between  them  and  me.  Pm  good  rigfct 
through,  I  give  you  my  word  I  am.  If  only  it'll  last !  " 

Poppy's  lips  quivered,  and  she  looked  Iglesias  rather 
desperately  in  the  face. 

"  Never  fear,"  he  answered,  "  but  that  it  will  last." 

"  Still  you'll  come  and  see  me  often,  very  often,  till  I 
settle  down  into  the  running?  It  will  be  beastly  heavy 
going — must  be,  I'm  afraid — for  a  long  while  yet." 

Dominic  Iglesias,  holding  her  hand,  bent  low  and 
kissed  it. 

"  I  will  serve  you  perfectly,  God  helping  me,  as  long  as 
I  live,"  he  said. 

Five  minutes  later  Mrs.  Porcher,  supported  by  the  out- 
raged and  sympathetic  Eliza,  watched,  through  the  aper- 
ture afforded  by  the  rising  hinge  of  the  dining-room  door, 
an  unknown  lady,  escorted  by  Mr.  Iglesias,  sweep  in  whis- 
pering skirts  and  costly  sables  across  the  hall. 

Passing  out  and  down  the  white  steps,  Poppy,  usually 
so  light  of  foot  and  deft  of  movement,  stumbled,  and  but 
for  Iglesias'  prompt  assistance  would  have  fallen  headlong. 
At  that  same  moment  de  Courcy  Smyth,  slovenly  in  dress, 
with  shuffling  footsteps,  crossed  the  road,  and  then  slunk 
aside,  his  arm  jerked  up  queerly  almost  as  though  warding 
off  a  blow. 

"  No,  no,  I'm  not  hurt,  not  in  the  least  hurt,"  Poppy 
said  breathlessly,  in  response  to  Iglesias'  inquiry.  "  But 
it's  given  me  a  bad  fright.  I'll  go  straight  home.  Put 
me  into  the  first  hansom  you  see. — 'No,  I'll  go  by  myself. 
I'd  far  rather.  I  give  you  my  word  I'm  not  hurt ;  but  I've 
a  lot  of  things  to  think  about — I  want  to  be  alone.  I  want 
to  be  quiet.  Come  soon.  I  was  very  happy.  Good-bye 
— good-night." 


CHAPTER    XXVI 

A  FEATURELESS  landscape  of  the  brand  of  ugliness  peculiar 
to  the  purlieus  of  a  great  city,  to  that  intermediate  region 
where  the  streets  have  ended  and  the  country  has  not  yet 
fairly  begun.  A  waste  of  cabbagefields — the  dark  lumpy 
earth  between  the  rows  of  yellowish  stumps  strewn  with  ill- 
smelling  refuse  of  decaying  leaves — seen  through  the  rents 
in  a  broken,  unkempt,  quickset  hedge.  Running  parallel 
with  the  said  hedge,  shiny  blacktarred  palings,  shutting  off 
all  view  of  the  river.  Between  these  barriers,  a  long 
stretch  of  drab-coloured  high  road,  flanked  by  slightly 
raised  footpaths,  a  verge  of  coarse  weedy  grass  to  them 
in  which  a  litter  of  rags,  torn  posters,  and  much  other  un- 
loveliness  found  harbourage.  To  the  northwest  and 
north,  a  sky  piled  to  the  zenith  with  mountainous  swiftly 
moving  clouds,  inky,  blue-purple,  wildly  white,  from  out 
the  torn  bosoms  of  which  rushed,  now  and  again,  flurrying 
showers  of  hail  and  sleet  driven  by  a  shrieking  wind. 
March  was  in  the  act  of  asserting  its  proverbial  privilege 
of  "  going  out  like  a  lion  " ;  but  the  lion,  as  seen  in  this 
particular  perspective,  was  a  frankly  ignoble  and  ill-con- 
ditioned beast. 

And  Poppy  St.  John,  heading  up  against  wind  and 
weather  along  the  left-hand  footpath,  felt  frankly  ignoble 
and  ill-conditioned,  too.  Her  poor  soul,  which  had  made 
such  valiant  efforts  to  spread  its  wings  and  fly  heavenward 
— a  form  of  exercise  sadly  foreign  to  its  habit — crawled, 
once  more,  soiled  and  mud-bespattered,  along  the  common 
thoroughfare  of  life.  At  this  degradation,  her  heart  over- 
flowed with  bitterness  and  disgust,  let  alone  the  blind  rage 
which  possessed  her,  as  of  some  trapped  creature  frus- 

258 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  259 

' 

trated  in  escape.  She  had  broken  gaol,  as  she  fondly 
imagined,  and  secured  liberty.  Not  a  bit  of  it!  In  the 
hour  of  reconciliation,  of  sweetest  security,  she  met  her 
gaoler  face  to  face  and  heard  the  key  grind  in  the  lock. 

Save  for  the  occasional  passing  of  a  market  waggon,  or 
high-shouldered  scavenger's  cart,  the  road  was  deserted. 
Once  a  low-hung  two-wheeled  vehicle  rattled  by,  on  which, 
insufficiently  covered  by  sacking,  lay  a  dead  horse,  the 
great  head  swinging  ghastly  over  the  slanting  tail-board, 
the  legs  sticking  out  stark  in  front.  A  man,  perched  side- 
ways on  the  carcass,  swore  at  the  rickety  crock  he  was 
driving,  and  lashed  it  under  the  belly  with  a  short-handled 
heavy-thonged  whip.  He  was  collarless,  and  the  scarlet 
and  orange  handkerchief,  knotted  about  his  throat,  had  got 
shifted,  the  ends  of  it  streaming  out  behind  him  as  he  lifted 
his  arm  and  swayed  his  whole  body  madly  using  his  whip. 
Poppy  shut  her  eyes,  sickened  by  the  sound  and  sight. 
Just  then  a  scourging  storm  of  sleet  struck  her,  causing 
'  her  to  turn  her  back  and  pause,  where  a  curve  in  the  range 
of  paling  offered  some  slight  shelter.  For  strong  though 
she  was,  and  well  furnished  against  the  inclement  weather 
in  a  thick  coaching  coat,  buttoned  up  to  her  chin  and  down 
to  her  feet,  her  cloth  cap  tied  on  with  a  thick  veil,  the 
stinging  wind  and  sleet  were  almost  more  than  she  could 
face.  Her  depression  was  not  physical  merely,  but  moral 
likewise.  For  over  and  above  her  personal  and  private 
sources  of  trouble,  it  was  a  day  and  place  whereon  evil  deeds 
seemed  unpleasantly  possible.  The  swearing  driver  and 
dangling  head  of  the  dead  horse  had  served  to  complete  her 
discomfiture;  and  presently,  the  storm  slackening  a  little, 
hearing  footsteps  behind  her,  she  wheeled  round,  her  chin 
bravely  in  the  air,  but  her  heart  galloping  with  nervous 
fright,  while  her  fingers  closed  down  on  the  butt  of  the 
small  silver-plated  revolver  which  rested  in  the  right-hand 
waist  pocket  of  her  long  coat. 


260  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

De  Courcy  Smyth  was  close  beside  her.  Poppy  set  her 
lips  together  and  braced  herself  to  endure  the  coming 
wretchedness.  It  was  some  years  since  she  had  had  speech 
of  him — some  years,  indeed,  since  she  had  seen  him,  save 
during  that  brief  moment,  twenty-four  hours  previously, 
as  she  descended  the  steps  of  Cedar  Lodge.  Even  in  his 
most  prosperous  days  he  had  been  unattractive  in  person, 
at  once  untidy  and  theatrical  in  dress.  Now  Poppy  regis- 
tered a  distinct  deterioration  in  his  appearance.  His  puffy 
face,  red-rimmed  eyes,  and  shambling  gait  were  odious  to 
her.  She  noted,  moreover,  that  he  was  poorly  clad.  His 
grey  felt  hat  was  stained  and  greasy ;  his  ginger-coloured 
frieze  overcoat  threadbare  at  the  elbows,  thin  and  stringy 
in  the  skirts.  The  soles  of  his  brown  boots  were  splayed, 
the  upper  leathers  seamed  and  cracked.  This  might  de- 
note poverty.  It  might,  also,  only  denote  carelessness  and 
sloth.  In  any  case,  it  failed  to  move  her  to  pity,  provok- 
ing in  her  uncontrollable  irritation ;  so  that,  forgetful  of 
diplomacy,  stirred  by  memories  of  innumerable  kindred 
provocations  in  the  past,  Poppy  spoke  without  preamble, 
asking  him  sharply  as  he  joined  her: 

"  Have  you  no  better  clothes  than  that?  " 

Smyth  paused  before  answering,  looking  her  up  and 
down  furtively  yet  deliberately,  wiping  the  wet  of  his 
beard  and  face,  meanwhile,  with  a  frayed  green  silk  pocket- 
handkerchief. 

"  It  offends  your  niceness  that  your  husband  should 
dress  like  a  tramp,  does  it  ?  "  he  said  hoarsely.  "  And  pray 
whose  fault  is  it  that  he  is  reduced  to  doing  so?  Judg- 
ing by  your  own  costume,  you  can  easily  remove  that  cause 
of  offence  if  you  choose.  It  does  not  occur  to  you,  per- 
haps, that  while  you  live  on  the  fat  of  the  land  I,  but  for 
the  charity  of  strangers — which  it  is  loathsome  to  me  to 
accept — should  not  have  enough  to  pay  for  the  food  I  eat 
or  for  the  detestable  garret  in  which  I  both  work  and 


THE    FAR    HORIZON 

sleep.  Under  these  circumstances  I  am  scarcely  prepared 
to  call  in  a  fashionable  tailor  to  replenish  my  wardrobe, 
lest  its  meagreness  should,  on  the  very  rare  occasions  on 
which  I  have  the  honour  of  meeting  you,  offer  an  unpleasing 
reflection  upon  your  own  super-elegance." 

To  these  observations,  delivered  with  a  somewhat  hyster- 
ical volubility,  Poppy  made  no  direct  reply.  Surely  it 
was  cruel,  cruel,  that  at  this  juncture,  when  she  had  so 
honestly  striven  to  refuse  the  evil  and  choose  the  good,  this 
recrudescence  of  all  that  was  most  hateful  to  her  should 
take  place?  Moreover,  now  as  always,  just  that  modicum 
of  truth  underlay  Smyth's  exaggerated  accusations  and 
perverted  statements  which  made  them  as  difficult  to  combat 
as  they  were  exasperating  to  listen  to.  For  a  minute  or  so 
Poppy  could  not  trust  herself  to  speak,  lest  she  should  give 
way  to  foolish  invective.  His  looks,  manner,  intonation, 
the  phrases  he  employed  were  odiously  familiar  to  her.  She 
fought  as  in  a  malicious  dream,  to  which  the  squalor  of  the 
surrounding  landscape  offered  an  only  too  appropriate  set- 
ting. Turning,  she  walked  slowly  in  the  direction  whence 
she  had  come — namely,  in  that  of  Barnes  village  and  Mort- 
lake.  There  the  quaint  riverside  houses  would  afford  some 
shelter  and  sense  of  comradeship. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  make  you  come  farther  out,"  she  said, 
with  an  attempt  at  civility. 

"  That  is  unexpectedly  considerate,"  he  commented. 

"  But  it  is  impossible  to  talk  in  the  teeth  of  this  wind," 
she  continued,  "  and  I  imagine  we're  neither  of  us  par- 
ticularly keen  to  prolong  our  interview." 

"  Excuse  me,  speak  for  yourself,"  Smyth  interrupted. 
"I  find  it  decidedly  interesting  to  meet  my  wife  again. 
She  has  gone  up  in  the  world,  and  climbed  the  tree  of 
fashion  in  the  interval.  I  have  gone  down  in  the  world, 
as  every  scholar  and  gentleman,  every  man  with  brains  and 
high  standards  of  art  and  culture,  is  bound  to  go  down 


262  THE    FAR    HORIZON 

sooner  or  later,  in  this  hideous  age  of  blatant  commer- 
cialism and  Mammon  rampant.  I  don't  quarrel  with  it. 
I  would  far  rather  be  one  of  the  downtrodden,  persecuted 
minority.  But,  just  on  that  account,  my  wife  is  all  the 
more  worth  contemplating,  since  she  offers  a  highly  in- 
structive object-lesson  in  the  advantages  which  accrue  from 
allying  oneself  with  the  victorious  majority.  See " 

A  rush  of  wind  and  flurry  of  cold  rain  rendered  the 
concluding  words  of  his  tirade  inaudible.  It  was  as  well, 
for  Poppy  was  growing  wicked,  anger  dominating  every 
more  humane  and  decent  feeling  in  her. 

"  Look  here,"  she  said,  when  the  storm  had  somewhat 
abated.  "  I  know"  that  sort  of  talk  as  well  as  my  old  shoe. 
Haven't  I  listened  to  it  for  hours?  For  goodness'  sake, 
quit  it.  It  doesn't  wash.  Let  us  come  to  the  point  at 
once  without  all  this  idiotic  brag  and  gassing.  You  wrote 
me  a  letter  shouting  danger  and  ruin.  What  did  it  mean  ? 
Anything  real,  or  merely  a  melodramatic  blowing  off  of 
steam?  Tell  me.  Let  us  have  it  out  and  have  finished 
with  it.  What  do  you  want  ?  " 

The  softening  medium  of  a  gauze  veil  failed  to  hide  the 
fact  that  Poppy's  expression  was  distinctly  malignant, 
her  great  eyes  full  of  sombre  fury,  her  red  lips  tense. 
Smyth  backed  away  from  her  against  the  palings  in 
genuine  alarm. 

"  I — I  believe  you'd  like  to  murder  me,"  he  said. 

"  So  I  should,"  Poppy  answered.  "  I  should  very  much 
like  to  kill  you.  And  I've  the  wherewithal  here,  in  my 
pocket,  and  there's  no  one  on  the  road.  But  you  needn't 
be  anxious.  I'm  not  going  to  murder  you.  The  conse- 
quences to  myself  would  be  too  inconvenient." 

As  she  spoke  she  thought  of  yesterday,  of  the  renewal 
of  her  friendship  with  Dominic  Iglesias,  and  of  all  that  he 
stood  for  to  her  in  things  pure,  lovely,  and  of  good  report. 
A  sob  rose  in  her  throat,  for  nothing,  after  all,  is  so  horri- 


THE    FAR    HORIZON  263 

• 
ble  as  to  feel  wicked;  nothing  so  hard  to  forgive  as  that 

which  causes  one  to  feel  so.  Poppy  walked  on  again 
slowly. 

"What  do  you  want?"  she  repeated  miserably.  "Be 
straight  with  me  for  once,  if  you  can,  de  Courcy,  and  tell 
me  plainly — if  there's  anything  to  tell.  What  is  it  you 
want?" 

"  I  have  my  chance  at  last,"  he  said  hurriedly,  "  of 
fame,  and  success,  and  recognition — of  bringing  those  who 
have  despised  me  to  their  knees.  I  thought  I  was  safe. 
But  yesterday  I  found  that  you — yes,  you — come  into  the 
question,  that  you  may  stand  between  me  and  the  real- 
isation of  my  hopes — more  than  hopes,  a  certainty, 
unless  you  play  some  scurvy  trick  on  me.  I  had  to 
have  your  promise,  and  there  was  no  time  to  lose — so  I 
wrote." 

Poppy  looked  at  him  contemptuously. 

"  What  does  all  that  mean  ? — more  money  ?  "  she  asked. 
"  Haven't  you  grown  ashamed  of  begging  yet?  I  raised 
your  allowance  last  year,  and  it's  being  paid  regularly — 
Ford  &  Martin  have  sent  me  on  your  receipts.  To  give  it 
you  at  all  is  an  act  of  grace,  for  you've  no  earthly  claim 
on  me,  and  you  know  it.  From  the  day  I  married  you  I 
never  cost  you  a  farthing ;  I've  paid  for  everything  myself, 
down  to  every  morsel  of  bread  I  put  into  my  mouth.  You, 
talked  big  about  your  income  beforehand,  when  you  knew 
you  were  up  to  your  eyes  in  debt.  Well,  in  debt  you  may 
stay,  as  far  as  I  am  concerned.  I'll  give  you  that  seventy- 
five  a  year  if  you'll  keep  clear  of  me ;  but  I  won't  give  you 
a  penny  more,  for  the  simple  reason  that  I  shan't  have  it 
to  give.  It'll  be  an  uncommonly  close  shave  in  any  case — 
I  have  myself  to  keep." 

"  Yourself  to  keep?  "  Smyth  snarled.  "  Since  when  have 
you  taken  to  wholesale  lying,  my  pretty  madam?  That  is 
a  new  development." 


THE     FAR     HORIZON 

"  I'm  not  lying,"  Poppy  blazed  out.  "  I  am  speaking 
honest,  sober  truth." 

Smyth  laughed.     It  was  not  an  agreeable  sound. 

"  Is  not  that  a  little  too  brazen  ?  "  he  asked.  "  Even 
with  such  a  negligible  quantity  as  a  deserted  husband,  it  is 
a  mistake  to  overplay  the  part." 

Then,  frightened  by  her  expression,  he  slunk  aside  again. 
But  Poppy  did  not  linger.  Slowly,  steadily,  she  walked 
on  down  the  rain-lashed  footpath; 

"  For  God's  sake  tell  me  what  you  want — tell  me  what 
you  want,"  she  cried,  "  and  let  me  get  away  from  all  this 
rottenness." 

"  You  do  not  believe  in  me,"  Smyth  replied  sullenly, 
"  and  that  is  why  it  is  so  difficult  to  speak  to  you  about 
this  matter.  You  have  always  depreciated  my  powers 
and  scoffed  at  my  talents.  No  thanks  to  you  I  have  any 
self-confidence  left." 

"  All  right,  all  right,"  Poppy  said.  "  We  can  miss  out 
the  remainder  of  that  speech.  I  know  it  by  heart.  Come 
to  the  point — what  do  you  want?  " 

"  I  was  just  filling  in  the  sketch  of  the  third  act." 

Poppy  shrugged  her  shoulders  and  raised  her  hands 
with  a  despairing  gesture. 

"Oh,  heavens,"  she  ejaculated,  "a  play  again!  Are 
you  mad?  You  know,  just  as  well  as  I  do,  every  manager 
will  refuse  it  unread." 

"  It  will  be  unnecessary  to  approach  any  manager.  I 
go  straight  to  the  public  this  time.  I  have  the  promise  of 
money  to  meet  the  expenses  of  two  matinees  at  least.  I 
have  no  scruple  in  accepting — it  is  an  investment,  and  an 
immensely  profitable  one — for  I  know  the  worth  of  my  own 
work.  It  is  great,  nothing  less  than  great 

"  Of  course,"  Poppy  said.  "  But  pray  where  do  I 
come  in  ?  "  Then  she  paused.  Suddenly  she  pieced  the 
bits  of  the  puzzle  together,  saw  and  understood.  Misery, 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  265 

it 

deeper  than  any  she  had  yet  experienced,  overflowed  in  her. 
"  Ah,  it  is  you,  then,  you  who  are  bleeding  Dominic 
Iglesias,"  she  cried.  "Robbing  him  by  appeals  to  his 
charity  and  lying  assurances  of  impossible  profits.  You 
shall  not  do  it.  I  will  put  a  stop  to  it.  You  shall  not, 
you  shall  not !  " 

"-Why?"  Smyth  inquired.  "Do  you  want  all  his 
money  yourself?  " 

"  You  dirty  hound,"  Poppy  said  under  her  breath. 

•'  I  did  not  know  of  your  connection  with  him  till  yes- 
terday," Smyth  continued — in  proportion  as  Poppy  lost 
herself,  he  became  cool  and  astute — "  though  we  have  lived 
in  the  same  house  for  the  last  eighteen  months.  I  supposed 
you  to  be  in  pursuit  of  larger  game  than  superannuated 
bank-clerks.  However,  your  modesty  of  taste,  combined 
with  your  charming  attitude  towards  me,  might,  as  I  per- 
ceived, lead  to  complications.  I  ascertained  how  long  you 
had  been  at  Cedar  Lodge  yesterday.  Then  I  wrote  to 
you." 

Poppy  stood  still  in  the  wind  and  wet,  listening  in- 
tently. 

"  For  once,"  he  went  on  exultantly,  "  it  is  my  turn  to 
give  orders,  my  fine  lady,  and  yours  to  obey.  If  you  in- 
terfere, in  the  smallest  degree,  between  Iglesias  and  me,  I 
will  call  his  attention  to  certain  facts,  the  appearance  of 
which  is  highly  discreditable  to  him.  He  will  pay  to  save 
his  reputation,  if  he  ceases  to  pay  out  of  charity — not  that 
it  is  charity.  He  is  making  an  investment  of  which,  as  a 
business  man,  he  fully  appreciates  the  worth.  If  you  in- 
terfere I  will  make  his  position  a  vastly  uncomfortable  one. 
The  women  who  keep  Cedar  Lodge  are  as  jealous  as  cats. 
It  would  not  require  much  blowing  to  make  that  fire  burst 
into  a  very  lively  flame,  I  promise  you." 

"  You  live  there,  then  ?  "  Poppy  said  absently.  "  You 
live  there?  " 


266  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

"  Yes,"  he  answered.  "  Does  that  offend  your  niceness, 
too?  Do  you  consider  the  place  too  good  for  me?  You 
need  not  distress  yourself.  I  have  only  one  room,  a  small 
one — on  the  second  floor  immediately  above  your  friend's 
handsome  sitting-room,  but  only  half  the  size  of  it.  The 
floors  are  old.  I  can  gather  a  very  fair  sense  of  any  con- 
versation taking  place  below." 

Poppy  moved  on  again. 

"  May  I  inquire  what  you  propose  to  do  ?  "  Smyth  asked 
presently — "  warn  your  mature  commercial  admirer  and 
compel  me,  in  self-protection,  to  blast  his  reputation,  or 
hold  your  tongue  like  a  reasonable  woman  ?  " 

They  had  reached  the  end  of  the  tarred  palings.  Upon 
the  left  the  quaintly  irregular  bow-windowed  rose-and-ivy- 
covered  houses  of  Barnes  Terrace — no  two  of  them  alike  in 
height  or  in  architecture — fronted  the  road.  Upon  the 
right  was  the  river,  dull-coloured  and  wind-tormented.  A 
cargo  of  bricks,  supplying  a  strong  note  of  red  in  the 
otherwise  mournful  landscape,  was  being  unloaded  from  a 
barge;  carts  backed  down  the  slip  to  within  easy  distance 
of  the  broad  bulwarkless  deck,  horses  shivering  as  they 
stood  knee-deep  in  the  water.  The  bricks  grated  together 
when  the  men,  handling  them,  tossed  them  across.  With 
long-drawn  thunderous  roar  and  shriek,  a  train,  heading 
from  Kew  Station,  rushed  across  the  latticed  iron-built 
railway  bridge.  Poppy  waited,  watching  the  progress  of 
it,  watching  the  unloading  of  the  barge.  The  one  perfectly 
pure  and  beautiful  gift  which  life  had  given  her  was 
utterly  profaned,  so  it  seemed  to  her;  that  which  she  held 
dearest  and  best  hopelessly  entangled  with  that  which  to 
her  was  most  degrading  and  abhorrent.  And  what  to  do  ? 
To  be  silent  was  to  be  disloyal.  To  speak  was  to  expose 
Dominic  Iglesias  to  dishonour  and  disgust  far  deeper  than 
that  which  loss  of  money  could  inflict.  Poppy  weighed 
and  balanced,  clear  that  her  thought  must  be  wholly  for 


THE     FAR    HORIZON  267 

y 

him,  not  letting  anger  sway  her  judgment.     Of  two  evils 
she  must  choose  that  which,  for  him,  was  least. 

"  I  will  not  give  you  away.  I  will  say  nothing,"  she 
said  at  last. 

"  You  swear  you  will  not  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  swear,"  Poppy  said. 

"J[  want  it  in  writing." 

"  Very  well,  you  shall  have  it  in  writing,  witnessed  if 
you  like,"  she  answered.  "  The  precious  document  shall 
be  posted  to  you  to-night.  *  Now  are  you  satisfied,  you 
contemptible  animal  ?  Have  you  humbled  me  enough  ?  " 

But  Smyth  came  close  to  her,  pushing  his  face  into  hers. 
He  was  shaking  with  excitement,  hysterical  with  mingled 
fear  and  relief. 

"  I  am  not  ungenerous,  my  dear  girl,"  he  whispered. 
"  I  am  willing  to  condone  the  past — to  take  you  back,  to 
acknowledge  you  as  my  wife  and  let  you  share  my  success. 
There  is  a  part  in  the  new  play  which  might  have  been 
written  for  you.  You  could  become  world-famous  in  it. 
I  am  not  ungenerous,  I  am  willing  to  make  matters  up." 

"  Do  you  want  me  to  murder  you,  after  all  ?  "  Poppy 
asked.  "  If  you  try  me  much  further,  I  tell  you  plainly, 
I  can't  answer  for  myself.  Therefore,  as  you  value  your 
life,  let  me  alone.  Get  out  of  my  sight." 


CHAPTER    XXVII 

DURING  the  watches  of  the  ensuing  night,  amid  bellowings 
of  wind  in  the  chimneys,  long-drawn  complaint  of  the 
great  cedar  tree,  rattle  of  sleet,  and  those  half-heard 
whisperings  and  footsteps — as  of  inhabitants  long  since 
departed — which  so  often  haunt  an  old  house  through  the 
hours  of  dark,  Dominic  Iglesias'  mind,  for  cause  unknown, 
was  busied  with  reminiscences  of  the  firm  of  Barking 
Brothers  &  Barking,  and  the  many  years  he  had  spent  in 
its  service.  He  had  no  wish  to  think  of  these  things. 
They  came  unbidden,  pushing  themselves  upon  remem- 
brance. All  manner  of  details,  of  little  histories  and 
episodes  connected  both  with  the  financial  and  human 
affairs  of  the  famous  banking-house,  occurred  to  him. 
And  from  thoughts  of  all  this,  but  transmogrified  and  per- 
verted, when,  towards  dawn,  the  storm  abating,  he  at 
length  fell  asleep,  his  dreams  were  not  exempt.  For 
through  them  caracoled,  in  grotesque  and  most  irregular 
inter-relation,  those  august  personages,  the  heads  of  the 
firm,  along  with  his  fellow-clerks,  living  and  dead,  that 
militant  Protestant,  good  George  Lovegrove,  and  the  whole 
personnel  of  the  establishment,  down  to  caretaker,  messen- 
ger-boys, porters  and  the  like.  Never  surely  had  been  such 
wild  doings  in  that  sedate  and  reputable  place  of  business 
— doings  in  which  gross  absurdity  and  ingenious  cruelty 
went  hand  in  hand;  while,  by  some  queer  freak  of  the 
imagination,  poor  Pascal  Pelletier,  of  hectic  and  pathetic 
memory,  appeared  as  leader  of  the  revels,  at  which  the 
Lady  of  the  Windswept  Dust,  sad-eyed,  inscrutable  of 
countenance,  her  dragon-embroidered  scarf  drawn  closely 
about  her  shoulders,  looked  on. 

Dominic  arose  from  his  brief  uneasy  slumbers  anxious 

268 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  269 

j/ 

and  unrefreshed.  The  phantasmagoria  of  his  dream  had 
been  so  living,  so  vivid,  that  it  was  difficult  to  throw  off  the 
impression  produced  by  it.  Moreover,  he  was  slightly 
ashamed  to  find  that,  the  restraining  power  of  the  will 
removed,  his  mind  was  capable  of  creating  scenes  of  so 
loose  and  heartless  a  character.  He  was  displeased  with 
himself,  distressed  by  this  outbreak  of  the  undisciplined 
and  unregenerate  "  natural  man  "  in  him.  Later,  coming 
into  his  sitting-room,  he  unfortunately  found  matters 
awaiting  him  by  no  means  calculated  to  obliterate  displeas- 
ing impressions  or  promote  suavity  and  peace. 

For  the  pile  of  letters  and  circulars  lying  beside  his 
plate  upon  the  breakfast-table  was  topped  by  a  note 
directed  in  de  Courcy  Smyth's  nervous  and  irritable  hand. 
Dominic  opened  it  with  a  curious  sense  of  reluctance. 
Only  last  week  he  had  lent  the  man  ten  pounds ;  and  here 
was  another  demand,  couched  in  terms,  too,  so  bullying,  so 
almost  threatening,  that  Dominic's  back  stiffened  con- 
siderably. 

Smyth  requested,  or  rather  commanded,  that  fifty 
pounds  should  be  delivered  to  him  without  delay.  "  It 
was  conceivable  that  Mr.  Iglesias  had  not  that  amount 
by  him  in  notes.  But,  since  he  had  really  nothing  to  do, 
it  would  be  a  little  occupation  for  him  to  go  and  procure 
them."  Smyth  insisted  the  money  should  be  paid  in  a  lump 
sum,  adding  that,  his  time  being  as  valuable  as  Iglesias' 
was  worthless,  he  could  not  reasonably  be  expected  to 
waste  it  in  perpetual  letters  respecting  a  subject  so 
essentially  uninteresting  and  distasteful  to  him  as  that  of 
ways  and  means.  Such  correspondence  annoyed  him,  and 
put  him  off  his  work ;  and,  as  it  clearly  was  very  much  to 
Iglesias'  interest  that  the  play  should  be  finished  as  soon 
as  possible,  it  was  advisable  that  he  should  accede  to 
Smyth's  present  request  without  parley  and  pay  up  at 
once. 


270  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

Reading  this  mandatory  epistle,  Dominic  was  gravely 
displeased  and  hurt.  Poppy  St.  John  had  warned  him 
against  the  insatiable  and  insolent  greed  of  persons  of 
this  kidney.  He  had  discounted  her  speech  somewhat, 
supposing  it  infected  with  such  prejudice  as  the  recol- 
lection of  private  wrongs  will  breed  even  in  generous 
natures.  Now  he  began  to  fear  her  strictures  had  been 
just.  The  egoism  of  the  unsuccessful  is  a  moral  disease, 
destructive  of  all  sense  of  proportion.  Those  suffering 
from  it  must  be  reckoned  as  insane;  not  sick  merely,  but 
actually  mad  with  self-love.  Smyth,  to  gain  his  play  a 
hearing,  would  beggar  him — Iglesias — without  scruple  or 
regret.  But  Dominic  had  no  intention  of  being  beggared 
in  this  connection.  Thrice-sacred  charity  is  one  story ;  the 
encouragement  of  the  unlimited  borrower,  the  fostering  of 
so  colossal  a  selfishness  quite  another.  A  point  had  been 
reached  where  to  accede  to  Smyth's  demands  was  culpable, 
a  consenting,  indeed,  to  wrongdoing.  Here  then  was 
occasion  for  careful  consideration.  Iglesias  gravely  laid 
the  offensive  missive  aside,  and  proceeded  to  eat  his  break- 
fast before  opening  the  rest  of  his  letters.  In  the  intervals 
of  the  meal  he  glanced  at  the  contents  of  the  morning 
paper. 

The  war  news  was  unimportant.  A  skirmish  or  two, 
leaving  a  few  more  women's  lives  maimed  and  hearts 
desolate.  A  lie  or  two  of  continental  manufacture,  tend- 
ing to  blacken  the  fair  fame  of  the  most  humane  and  good- 
tempered  army  which,  in  all  probability,  ever  took  the  field. 
A  shriek  or  two  from  soft-handed  sentimentalists  at  home, 
who — for  reasons  best  known  to  themselves — are  ardent 
patriots  of  every  country  save  their  own.  Such  items 
formed  too  permanent  a  part  of  the  daily  menu,  during 
the  year  of  grace  1900,  to  excite  more  than  passing  notice. 
At  the  bottom  of  the  column  a  paragraph  of  a  more 
unusual  character  attracted  Iglesias'  attention.  It 


THE     FARfHORIZON  271 

y 

announced  it  had  authority  for  stating  that  alarmist 
rumours,  current  regarding  the  unstable  financial  posi- 
tion of  a  certain  well-known  and  highly  respected  London 
bank,  were  grossly  exaggerated.  No  doubt  the  losses 
suffered  by  the  bank  in  question  had  been  severe,  owing 
to  its  extensive  connection  with  land  and  mining  property 
in  "South  Africa,  and  the  disorganisation  of  business  in 
that  country  consequent  upon  the  war.  The  said  losses 
were,  however,  of  a  temporary  character,  and  had  by  no 
means  reached  the  disastrous  proportions  commonly  re- 
ported. Granted  time,  and  a  reasonable  amount  of 
patience  on  the  part  of  persons  most  nearly  interested,  the 
storm  would  be  successfully  weathered,  and  the  bank  would 
resume  the  leading  position  which  it  had  so  long  and 
honourably  enjoyed.  No  names  were  given,  but  Iglesias 
had  small  difficulty  in  supplying  them.  It  appeared  to  him 
that  Barking  Brothers  must  be  in  considerable  straits  or 
they  would  never,  surely,  put  forth  disclaimers  of  this 
description.  His  mind  went  back  upon  the  dreams  which 
had  left  such  disquieting  impressions  upon  his  mind.  In 
the  light  of  that  newspaper  paragraph  they  took  on  an 
almost  prophetic  character.  Absently  he  turned  over  the 
rest  of  the  pile  of  letters,  selected  one,  the  handwriting 
upon  the  envelope  of  which  was  at  once  well-known  and 
perplexing  to  his  memory,  opened  it,  and  turned  to  the 
signature  to  find  that  of  no  less  a  personage  than  Sir  Abel 
Barking  himself. 

During  the  next  quarter  of  an  hour  Dominic  Iglesias 
lived  hard  in  thought,  in  decision,  in  .struggle  with  per- 
sonal resentment  bred  by  remembrance  of  scant  courtesy 
and  ingratitude  meted  out  to  him.  He  learned  that 
Messrs.  Barking  Brothers  &  Barking's  embarrassments 
did,  in  point  of  fact,  skirt  the  edge  of  ruin.  Their  affairs 
were  in  apparently  inextricable  confusion,  owing  to  Reg- 
inald Barking's  reckless  speculations,  while,  to  add  to  the 


272  THE    FAR    HORIZON 

general  confusion,  that  strenuous  young  man  had  broken 
down  utterly  from  nervous  overstrain,  and  was,  at  the 
present  time,  incapable  of  the  slightest  mental  or  physical 
exertion.  Things  were  at  a  deadlock.  "  Under  these  ter- 
rible circumstances,"  Sir  Abel  Barking  wrote,  "  I  turn  to 
you,  my  good  friend,  as  a  person  intimately  acquainted 
with  the  operations  of  our  firm.  Your  experience  may  be 
of  service  to  us  in  this  crisis,  and,  in  virtue  of  the  many 
benefits  you  have  received  from  us  in  the  past,  I  unhesitat- 
ingly claim  your  assistance.  In  my  own  name  and  that 
of  my  partners,  I  offer  to  reinstate  you  in  your  former 
position,  but  with  enlarged  powers.  It  has  always  been 
my  endeavour,  as  you  are  well  aware,  to  reward  merit  and 
to  treat  those  in  our  employment  with  generosity  and  con- 
sideration. You  will  be  glad,  I  am  sure,  to  embrace  this 
opportunity  of  repaying,  in  some  small  measure,  your  debt 
towards  me  and  mine."  More  followed  to  the  same  effect. 
Neither  the  taste  of  the  writer  nor  his  manner  of  expres- 
sion was  happy.  Of  this  Dominic  was  quite  sensible. 
Patronage,  especially  after  his  period  of  independence, 
was  far  from  agreeable  to  him.  Yet  behind  the  verbiage, 
the  platitudes  and  bombastic  phrases,  his  ear  detected  a 
very  human  cry  of  fear  and  cry  for  help.  Should  he 
accede,  doing  his  best  to  allay  that  fear  and  render  that 
help? 

He  rose,  still  holding  the  wordy  letter  in  his  hand,  and 
paced  the  room.  Of  his  own  ability  to  render  effective 
help,  were  he  allowed  freedom  of  action,  Iglesias  enter- 
tained little  doubt — always  supposing  that  the  situation 
did  not  prove  even  worse  than  he  had  present  reason  for 
supposing.  It  was  not  difficult  to  see  how  the  trouble  had 
come  about.  The  senior  partners,  lulled  into  false  security 
by  lifelong  prosperity,  had  grown  supine  and  inert. 
Sooner,  in  their  opinion,  might  the  stars  fall  from  heaven 
than  the  august  house  of  Barking  prove  unsound  of 


THE    FAR    HORIZON  273 

y 

foundation  or  capable  of  collapse!  To  hint  at  this,  even 
as  a  remote  possibility,  was  little  short  of  blasphemous. 
Their  amiable  nephew,  meanwhile,  had  regarded  them  as 
a  flock  of  silly  fat  geese  eminently  fitted  for  plucking.  He 
let  them  complacently  hiss  and  cackle,  congratulate  them- 
selves upon  their  worldly  wisdom  and  conspicuous  moder- 
nity, while,  all  the  time,  silently,  diligently,  relentlessly 
plucking.  Now,  awakening  suddenly  to  the  fact  of  their 
nudity,  they  were  in  a  terrible  taking;  scandalised,  flus- 
tered, very  sore,  poor  birds,  and  quite  past  recollecting 
that  feathers  grow  again  if  the  system  is  sound  and  the 
cuticle  healthy.  To  Iglesias  these  purse-proud,  self- 
righteous,  middle-aged  gentlemen  presented  a  spectacle  at 
once  pathetic  and  humorous  in  their  present  sad  plight. 
A  calm  head  and  clear  judgment  might  do  much  to 
ameliorate  their  position,  and  a  calm  head  and  cool  judg- 
ment he  was  confident  of  possessing.  Only  was  he,  after 
all,  disposed  to  place  these  useful  possessions  at  their 
service  ? 

For  in  the  last  nine  months  Dominic  Iglesias'  habits 
and  outlook  had  changed  notably.  The  values  were 
altered.  It  would  be  far  harder  to  return  to  the  monoto- 
nous routine  of  business  life  now — even  though  a  fine 
revenge,  a  delicate  heaping  of  coals  of  fire,  accompanied 
that  return — than  it  had  been  to  part  company  with  it 
last  year.  Loneliness,  the  emptiness  induced  by  absence 
of  definite  employment,  no  longer  oppressed  him.  Holy 
Church  had  cured  all  that,  giving  him  a  definite  place, 
and  definite  purpose,  beautiful  duties  of  prayer  and  wor- 
ship, the  restrained,  yet  continuous,  excitement  of  the 
pushing  forward  of  soul  and  spirit  upon  the  fair,  strange, 
daily,  hourly  journey  towards  the  far  horizon  and  the 
friendship  of  Almighty  God.  His  retirement  had  become 
very  dear  to  him,  since  it  afforded  scope  for  the  conscious 
prosecution  of  that  journey.  Dominic's  state  of  mind, 


in  short,  was  that  of  the  lover  who  dreads  any  and  every 
outside  demand  which  may,  even  momentarily,  distract  his 
attention  from  the  object  of  his  love.  Threadneedle 
Street,  the  glass  and  mahogany  walled  corridors,  and  the 
moral  atmosphere  of  them — money-getting  and  of  this 
world  conspicuously  worldly — were  not  these  ironically 
antagonistic  to  the  journey  upon  which  he  had  set  forth 
and  the  habit  of  mind  necessary  to  the  successful  prosecu- 
tion of  it?  There  was  Poppy  St.  John,  too,  and  the  closer 
relation  of  friendship  into  which  he  had  just  entered  with 
her.  This  must  not  be  neglected.  And,  thinking  of  her, 
he  could  not  but  think  of  that  younger  son  of  the  great 
banking-house,  Alaric  Barking,  and  his  dealings  with  her 
— enjoying  her  as  long  as  it  suited  him  to  do  so,  leaving 
her  as  soon  as  his  passion  cooled  and  a  more  advantageous 
social  connection  presented  itself.  Towards  the  handsome 
young  soldier  Iglesias  was,  it  must  be  owned,  somewhat 
merciless.  Why  should  he  go  to  the  rescue  of  this  young 
libertine's  family,  and  indirectly  facilitate  his  marriage, 
and  increase  its  promise  of  happiness,  by  helping  to  secure 
him  an  otherwise  vanishing  fortune?  Let  him  pay  the 
price  of  his  illicit  pleasures  and  become  a  pauper.  Such 
a  consummation  Dominic  admitted  he,  personally,  could 
face  with  entire  resignation. 

And  yet — yet — on  closer  examination  were  not  these 
reasons  against  undertaking  the  work  offered  him  based 
upon  personal  disinclination,  personal  animosity,  rather 
than  upon  plain  right  and  wrong,  and,  consequently,  were 
they  not  insufficient  to  justify  abstention  and  refusal? 
That  earlier  dream  of  his,  on  the  night  following  his  dis- 
missal last  year,  came  back  to  him,  with  its  touching  mem- 
ories of  the  narrow  town  garden  behind  the  old  house  in 
Holland  Street,  Kensington — the  golden  laburnum,  the 
shallow  stone  basin  beloved  of  sooty  sparrows,  poor,  dear 
Pascal  Pelletier  and  his  Huntley  &  Palmer's  biscuit-box 


THE    FAR     HORIZON  275 

a 

infernal  machine  and  very  crude  methods  of  adjusting  the 
age-old  quarrel  between  capital  and  labour.  On  that  occa- 
sion the  lonely  little  boy,  though  at  risk  of  grave  injury 
to  himself,  had  not  hesitated  to  save  the  ill-favoured  chunk- 
faced  grey  cat — which  bore  in  speech  and  appearance  so 
queer  a  likeness  to  Sir  Abel  Barking — from  the  ugly  fate 
awa'iting  it.  He  had  gathered  it  tenderly  in  his  arms,  pity- 
ing and  striving  to  heal  it.  Was  the  child,  by  instinct, 
finer,  nobler,  more  self-forgetful,  than  the  man  in  the  full 
possession  of  reason,  instructed  in  the  divine  science,  for- 
tified by  the  example  and  merits  o£  the  saints  ?  That  would, 
indeed,  be  a  melancholy  conclusion.  And  so  it  occurred 
to  him,  not  merely  as  conceivable  but  as  incontestable, 
that  the  road  to  the  far  horizon,  instead  of  leading  in  the 
opposite  direction  to  the  city  banking-house,  for  him,  at 
this  particular  juncture,  led  directly  into  and  through  it; 
so  that  to  refuse  would  be  to  stray  from  the  straight  path 
and  risk  the  obscuring  of  the  blessed  light  by  a  cowardly 
and  selfish  lust  of  the  immediate  comfort  of  it. 

He  would  go  and  help  those  distracted  plucked  geese 
to  grow  new  feathers.  Only  to  do  so  meant  time,  labour, 
unremitting  application,  a  wholesale  sacrifice  of  leisure; 
so  he  must  see  Poppy  St.  John  first. 


CHAPTER    XXVIII 

"  I  DID  not  call  yesterday,"  Iglesias  said,  "  in  consequence 
of  your  prohibitory  telegram.  But  to-day  I  have  come 
early  and  without  permission,  first  because  I  was  anxious 
to  assure  myself  you  were  really  unhurt,  and  secondly  be- 
cause something  has  occurred  regarding  which  I  wish  to 
consult  you.  I  must  have  your  sanction  before  taking 
action  in  respect  of  it." 

Entering  from  the  blustering  wind  and  keen,  fitful  sun- 
shine without,  the  little  drawing-room  struck  Iglesias  as 
both  stuffy  and  dingy.  And  Poppy,  standing  in  the  centre 
of  it,  huddled  in  a  black  brocade  tea-gown,  a  sparse  pattern 
of  bluey  mauve  rosebuds  upon  it,  which  hung  in  limp  folds 
from  her  bosom  to  her  feet,  concealing  all  the  outline  of 
her  figure,  came  perilously  near  looking  dingy  likewise. 
The  garment,  cut  square  at  the  neck,  had  long  seen  its 
first  youth.  The  big  outstanding  black  ribbon  bow  be- 
tween her  shoulders  and  that  upon  her  breast  was  creased 
and  crumpled.  Beneath  the  masses  of  her  dark  hair  her 
face  looked  almost  unnaturally  small,  sallow  and  bloodless, 
while  her  eyes  were  enormous — dusky  dwelling-places,  as  it 
seemed  to  her  visitor,  of  some  world-old  sorrow.  Her  face 
did  not  light  up,  neither  did  she  make  any  demonstration 
of  gladness  or  greeting,  but  stood,  one  toy  spaniel  tucked 
under  either  arm,  their  forelegs  lying  along  her  wrists, 
their  fringed  paws  resting  upon  her  palms.  Dominic  had 
a  conviction  she  had  snatched  up  the  little  dogs  on  hearing 
his  voice,  and  held  them  so  as  to  render  it  impossible  for 
him  to  take  her  hand.  Less  than  ever,  looking  upon  her, 
had  he  any  mercy  for  Alaric  Barking.  Less  than  ever  did 
the  prospect  of  spending  weeks,  perhaps  months,  in  shor- 

276 


THE     FAR    HORIZON  277 

y 

ing  up  the  imperilled  fortunes  of  that  young  gentleman's 
family  prove  alluring  to  him. 

"  You  were  hurt,"  he  broke  out,  almost  fiercely.  "  You 
are  suffering,  and,  worse,  you  are  unhappy.  It  makes 
me  very  angry  to  see  you  thus.  I  wish  I  could  reach 
those  who  are  guilty  of  having  distressed  and  injured 
you." 

Poppy's  face  went  a  shade  paler,  and  alarm  mingled 
with  the  sorrow  in  her  eyes,  but  she  made  a  courageous 
effort  to  patter  as  usual. 

"  You'd  give  them  the  what  for,  dear  man,  wouldn't 
you  ?  "  she  said.  "  But  you  would  have  to  go  way  back 
in  the  ages  for  that,  and  get  behind  the  seed-sowing  of 
which  this  gay  hour  is  the  harvest.  Still,  I  love  to  see 
you  ferocious.  It  is  very  flattering  to  me,  and  it's  mightily 
becoming  to  you.  Don't  snore,  Cappadocia.  Manners, 
my  good  child,  manners.  All  the  same,  I  wasn't  hurt  slip- 
ping on  those  gorgeous  white  steps  of  yours.  Upon  my 
honour,  I  wasn't.  But  I  had  to  go  out  yesterday  after- 
noon, and  I  got  caught  in  one  of  those  infernal  hailstorms. 
It  was  altogether  too  cold  for  comfort,  and  I  feel  a  bit 
cheap  this  morning  in  consequence.  That's  why  I  put  on 
this  odious  gown.  I  always  try  to  dress  for  the  part,  and 
the  part  just  now  is  dismality.  From  the  start  this  gown 
has  been  a  disappointment.  I  counted  on  the  roses  fading 
pink,  but  the  beasts  faded  blue  instead.  I  feel  as  if  I  was 
dressed  in  a  bruise,  and  that's  appropriate — for  I  also 
feel  as  if  I  had  been  beaten  all  over.  Merely  the  hail — I 
give  you  my  word.  Nothing  more  than  that.  I'm  never 
ill."  Poppy  paused,  dropped  the  little  dogs  on  the  floor. 
They  cowered  against  her,  looking  up  woefully  at  her. 
"  No,  I  don't  want  you,"  she  said.  "  You're  heavy.  I'm 
tired  of  you." 

i     Then  she  blew  her  nose,  and,  over  the  top  of  her  hand- 
kerchief, looked  full  at  Iglesias  for  the  first  time. 


278  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

"  Well,  what  is  it  ?  What  do  you  want  my  sanction 
for?" 

Without  waiting  for  his  answer  she  swept  aside,  knelt 
down,  crouching  over  the  fire,  extending  both  hands  to  the 
heat  of  it,  while  her  open  sleeves  falling  back  showed  her 
arms  bare  to  the  elbow. 

"  Tell  me,  and,  if  you  don't  mind,  shove  along.  I  own 
I  am  a  trifle  jumpy — only  the  weather — but  I  need 
humouring,  so  shove  along,  there's  a  good  dear,"  she  said. 

Whereupon,  in  as  few  words  as  possible,  Dominic  un- 
folded to  her  the  contents  of  Sir  Abel  Barking's  letter.  As 
she  listened,  Poppy  raised  herself,  turned  round,  stood 
upright,  her  hands  clasped  behind  her. 

"  Oh !  that's  it,  is  it  ?  "  she  said.  She  looked  less  blood- 
less, more  animated,  more  natural.  "  I'm  not  altogether 
surprised.  The  poor  old  lads  have  found  out  the  cuckoo 
in  their  nest  at  last,  have  they?  Alaric  had  a  notion 
Reginald  Barking — not  a  nice  person  Reginald — I  saw 
him  once  and  he  looked  a  cross  between  a  pair  of  forceps 
and  a  bag  of  shavings — I  didn't  trust  him — you  don't,  do 
you?  Alaric  had  a  notion  this  precious  cousin  was  making 
hay  of  the  whole  show.  But  it  was  utterly  useless  for  him 
to  intervene.  In  the  eyes  of  the  elder  generation  he  is  the 
original  dog  with  a  bad  name,  only  fit  for  hanging." 

Poppy  paused,  took  a  long  breath,  smiled  a  little. 

"  What  do  you  think  ?    Is  it  a  very  bad  business  ?  " 

**  I  cannot  tell  till  I  have  gone  into  details,"  Iglesias 
replied.  He  was  slightly  put  about  by  the  lady's  change 
of  demeanour,  by  the  interest  she  displayed,  by  the  altera- 
tion in  her  expression  and  bearing. 

"  And  they  howl  to  you  to  save  the  sinking  ship  ?  " 
Poppy  continued  lightly.  "  Shall  you  go  ?  " 

"  That  is  the  question  I  have  come  to  ask  you." 

"  To  ask  me?  "  she  said.  "  But,  heart  alive,  dear  man, 
where  do  I  come  in?  " 


,THE-  FAR     HORIZON  279 

"  My  duty  to  you  'stands  before  every  other  duty," 
Iglesias  answered  gravely.  "  Those  who  have  caused  you 
sorrow  and  injured  you,  are  my  enemies.  How  can  it  be 
otherwise?  A  member  of  this  family — I  do  not  choose  to 
name  him — has,  in  my  opinion,  played  a  detestable  part 
by  you;  therefore  only  with  your  sanction,  freely  given, 
can  J  consent  to  be  helpful  to  his  relatives." 

The  colour  leaped  into  Poppy's  cheeks,  the  light  into 
her  eyes,  her  lips  parted  in  pretty  laughter;  yet  she  still 
kept  her  hands  clasped  behind  her  back. 

"  Ah !  I  see — I  see,"  she  cried.  "  But  how  did  you  con- 
trive to  get  left  behind,  most  beloved  lunatic,  and  be  born 
five  or  six  centuries  out  of  your  time  into  this  shouting, 
pushing,  modern  world  which  knows  not  chivalry?  Do 
you  imagine  this  is  the  fashion  most  men  treat  women? 
Here  I  am  laughing,  yet  I  could  cry  that  you  should  come 
to  me — me,  of  all  people — on  such  a  lovely,  fine,  fanciful 
errand." 

"  My  conduct  appears  to  me  perfectly  obvious  and 
simple,"  Iglesias  replied  rather  coldly. 

"  I  know  it  does,  my  dear,  and  there's  the  pathetic 
splendour  of  it,"  Poppy  declared,  soft  mothering  tones  in 
her  voice.  "  All  the  same  we  must  keep  our  heads  screwed 
on  the  right  way.  So,  tell  me,  will  it  be  of  any  personal 
advantage  to  you  to  help  pull  these  elderly  plungers  out 
of  the  quagmire?  " 

"  None  whatever." 

"  At  least  they  will  make  it  worth  your  while  by  paying 
up  handsomely  ?  " 

"  No  doubt  they  will  make  me  some  offer,  but  I  shall 
decline  it,"  Iglesias  said.  "  I  draw  a  pension.  I  will  con- 
tinue to  do  so.  That  is  just.  I  have  a  right  to  it  in  virtue 
of  my  past  work.  But  I  shall  refuse  to  accept  any  salary 
over  and  above  that.  I  shall  make  it  a  condition  that  I 
give  my  services.  And  that  which  I  give  I  give,  whether 


280  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

it  be  to  king  or  to  beggar.  To  make  profit  out  of  my 
giving  would  be  intolerable  to  me." 

Poppy  mused,  her  head  bent,  pushing  away  the  tiny 
dogs  with  her  foot  as  they  fawned  upon  her. 

"  Don't  bother !  you  little  miseries,"  she  said,  "  don't 
bother!  I'm  busy  now.  I've  no  use  for  you."  Presently 
she  glanced  up  at  Mr.  Iglesias,  who  held  himself  proudly, 
as  he  stood  waiting  before  her.  "  Do  you  care  for  these 
Barking  people?  Is  it  a  question  of  affection  between  any 
of  them  and  you?" 

"  I  am  afraid  not,"  he  answered.  "  Ours  has  been  a 
purely  business  connection  throughout.  How  should  it  be 
otherwise?  The  social  interval  between  employers  and  em- 
ployed is  not  easily  bridged." 

"  Stuff-a-nonsense !  "  Poppy  put  in  scornfully.  "  They 
might  feel  honoured  to  tie  your  shoe." 

"  Any  attempt  to  ignore  differences  of  wealth  and 
station,  which  others  are  pleased  to  remember,  would  be 
unbecoming,"  he  continued.  "  Nor  do  I  relish  condescen- 
sion on  the  part  of  my  social  betters.  It  does  not  suit  me. 
I  prefer  to  remain  within  my  own  borders.  Still,  there 
is  the  tie  of  long  association  with  these  merchant  princes 
and  their  undertakings,  and  this,  I  own,  influences  me 
strongly.  It  would  be  shocking  to  me  to  witness  the  failure 
or  ruin  of  those  with  whom  I  have  been  in  daily  intercourse. 
Then,  too,  there  is  a  certain  challenge  in  the  present  posi- 
tion which  appeals  to  the  fighting  instinct  in  me.  If  not 
altogether  by  nature,  still  by  habit  I  am  a  business  man. 
Affairs  interest  me,  and  consequently  the  more  embarrassed 
and  apparently  hopeless  the  existing  state  of  things  is, 
the  greater  would  be  my  satisfaction  in  mastering  the  in- 
tricacies of  it  and  reducing  them  to  order.  These  practical 
matters  are  not  without  very  real  excitement  and  drama  to 
those  who  have  the  habit  of  handling  them."  Iglesias 
paused,  and  then  added  quietly,  "  But  I  am  contented 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  281 

enough  as  I  am,  and  should  not  voluntarily  have  touched 
business  again  had  there  not  been  another  consideration 
over  and  above  those  I  have  enumerated — namely,  the  plain 
obligation  of  right  doing,  whether  the  said  doing  be  con- 
genial to  one  or  not.  This  obligation  is  supreme,  or  should 
be  so,  in  the  case  of  one  who,  like  myself,  has  bound  himself 
by  definite  acts  of  obedience  and  self -dedication." 

His  expression  had  changed,  taking  on  something  of 
exaltation.  He  no  longer  looked  at  Poppy,  but  away  to 
the  far  horizon  and  the  light  thereon  resident. 

And  the  Lady  of  the  Windswept  Dust  was  quick  to 
realise  this,  though  upon  what  fair  unseen  object  the  eyes 
of  his  spirit  did,  in  fact,  rest  she  was  ignorant.  Against 
it  the  vanity  inherent  in  her  womanhood  rebelled.  She  was 
piqued  and  jealous  of  the  unnamed,  unknown  object  which 
absorbed  his  attention  more  than  she  herself  and  her  friend- 
ship did.  From  the  first  Iglesias  had  appealed  to  her  very 
various  nature  in  a  threefold  manner.  To  the  artist  in  her 
he  appealed  by  the  clearness  of  his  individuality,  his  finish 
of  person  and  of  feature,  his  gravity  and  poise — these  last 
taking  their  rise  not  in  insensibility,  but  in  reasoned  will, 
in  passionate  emotion  held,  as  she  had  learned,  austerely  in 
check.  He  appealed  to  the  motherhood  in  her  by  his  un- 
worldliness,  by  his  ignorance  of  base  motives,  thus  making 
her  attitude  towards  him  protective;  she  instinctively  try- 
ing to  stand  between  him  and  a  naughty  world,  to  stand, 
too,  between  him  and  her  own  too  often  naughty  self.  He 
appealed  to  the  child  in  her  by  the  exotic  and  foreign 
elements  in  him,  which  captivated  her  fancy,  endowing 
him  with  an  effect  of  mystery,  making  him  seem  to  hail 
from  some  region  of  legend  and  high  romance.  But  the 
events  of  the  last  few  days  had  been  far  from  beneficial  to 
Poppy  St.  John.  They  had  demoralised  her,  so  that  the 
artistic,  maternal,  and  childlike  aspects  of  her  nature  were 
alike  overlaid  by  the  bitterness,  the  cynicism,  the  reckless- 


282  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

ness  engendered  by  her  unhappy  childless  marriage  and 
the  irregular  life  she  had  led.  Poppy's  feet  were  held 
captive  in  the  quicksands  of  the  things  of  sense;  her  out- 
look was  concrete  and  gross.  Finer  instincts  lit  up  but 
momentary  flickering  fires  in  her,  speedily  dying  out  into 
the  gloom  begotten  by  the  deplorable  scene  of  yesterday 
with  her  husband,  and  shame  at  the  conspiracy  of  silence 
into  which,  as  the  lesser  of  the  two  evils  presented  to  her, 
she  had  entered,  remembrances  of  which,  on  his  first  ar- 
rival, had  made  her  feel  unworthy  and  a  traitor  in  the 
presence  of  Iglesias.  This  demoralisation  worked  in  her 
to  rebellion  against  just  all  that  which,  in  her  happier 
moods,  rendered  Iglesias  delightful  to  her.  His  exaltation, 
his  calm,  the  mystery  which  so  delicately  surrounded  him, 
the  very  distinction  of  his  appearance  irritated  her,  so  soon 
as  she  became  conscious  that  she  was  no  longer  the  sole 
object  of  his  thoughts.  She  was  pushed  by  a  bad  desire 
to  force  from  him  a  more  complete  self-revelation,  to 
cheapen  him  in  some  way  and  break  him  up. 

"  Dominic  Iglesias,"  she  cried  suddenly  and  impera- 
tively, "  you  are  a  trifle  too  empyrean.  I  don't  quite  be- 
lieve in  you.  Be  more  ordinary,  more  vulgarly  human. 
For  who  are  you,  after  all?  What  are  you?  "  she  said. 

And  he,  his  thoughts  recalled  from  a  great  distance, 
regarded  her  questioningly  and  as  without  immediate 
recognition.  Her  voice  was  harsh,  and  the  transition  was 
so  abrupt  from  the  radiant  land  of  the  spirit  to  the  dingy 
realities  of  Poppy's  drawing-room,  her  tired,  black,  bluey- 
mauve  patterned  tea-gown,  and  her  absurdly  artificial 
little  dogs.  It  took  him  some  few  seconds  to  adjust  him- 
self. Then  he  smiled  in  apology,  and  spoke  very  courte- 
ously and  gently. 

"  Who  am  I,  what  am  I,  dear  friend  ?  Why  this,  I 
think — a  commonplace,  very  ordinary  person  who,  long 
ago,  in  early  childhood,  by  mournful  accident,  for  which 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  283 

' 

it  would  be  an  impiety  to  hold  those  on  whom  he  was 
dependent  responsible,  lost  his  sight.  Through  all  the 

years  which  men   count,  and  rightly,  the  best  of  life 

when  courage  is  high  and  the  hand  strong,  and  oppor- 
tunity fertile,  circumstance  as  a  block  of  precious  many- 
coloured  marble  out  of  which  to  carve  fine  fortune  for 
ourselves  and  those  we  love — he  wandered  in  darkness, 
insecure  of  footing,  missing  the  very  end  and  object  for 
which  earthly  existence  has  been  bestowed  upon  us  mortals. 
He  was  sad  and  homesick  for  that  which  he  had  not;  yet 
ignorant  of  the  nature  of  his  own  loss,  disposed  to  blame 
the  constitution  of  things,  rather  than  his  own  incapacity, 
for  that  which  he  suffered." 

"And  then?"  Poppy  put  in  sharply.  Listening,  she 
had  started  to  mock,  the  cynic  and  worldling  being  hot  in 
her,  but,  looking  at  the  speaker,  somehow,  she  dared  not 
mock. 

"  And  then — recently — since  I  have  known  you  in  short, 
it  has  pleased  Almighty  God  by  degrees  to  restore  my 
sight." 

Poppy  regarded  him  intently,  her  singular  eyes  wide 
with  question  and  with  doubt,  her  lips  pressed  together. 

"  I  see — you  have  got  religion,"  she  said.  "  But  do  you 
seriously  mean  to  tell  me  that  I — I — have  had  anything 
to  do  with  that?" 

"  Yes,"  Iglesias  answered.  "  You  have  had  much  to 
do  with  it.  First  by  love — for  your  friendship  woke  up 
my  heart.  Then  by  sorrow  " — he  paused,  divided  by  the 
desire  to  spare  her  and  to  tell  her  the  whole  of  his  thought 
— "  sorrow,  when  I  came  to  know  you  better  and  value 
your  character  and  gifts  at  their  true  worth,  because  I  saw 
noble  things  put  to  ignoble  uses,  which  of  all  pitiful  sights 
is  perhaps  the  most  profoundly  pitiful." 

Silence  followed,  broken  only  by  minute  and  reproach- 
ful snorings  on  the  part  of  Cappadocia  and  her  spouse. 


284  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

The  little  dogs,  sensible  of  neglect,  had  become  the  victims 
of  wounded  self-love,  that  most  primitive,  as  it  is  the  most 
universal,  of  passions  throughout  all  grades  of  living 
things.  Poppy  meanwhile  turned  her  head  aside,  unable 
or  unwilling  to  speak.  Again  she  blew  her  nose  with  com- 
plete disregard  of  the  unromantic  quality  of  that  action, 
then  said  huskily : 

"  I  have  cleaned  the  slate.  I  shall  keep  it  clean."  Her 
voice  grew  steadier.  A  touch  of  malice  came  into  her 
expression.  "  I  like  compliments,  and  you  have  paid  me 
about  the  biggest  I  ever  had.  It  will  take  a  little  time  to 
digest.  So  I  think — I  think,  dear  man,  I  will  not  stand  in 
the  way  of  your  going  back  to  the  City,  and  saving  the 
sinking  ship — that  is,  if  the  work  won't  be  too  hard  for 
you?" 

"  No,"  he  answered,  touched  by  her  more  gracious 
aspect,  yet  slightly  confused.  "  I  have  had  nearly  a  year's 
holiday  and  rest;  I  am  quite  equal  to  work.  But  I  am 
afraid  the  hours  must  necessarily  be  long,  and  that  my  op- 
portunities of  coming  to  see  you  will  not  be  very  frequent." 

"  Perhaps  that's  just  as  well,"  she  said,  "  while  I  am 
still  in  process  of  digesting  the  big  compliment." 

Then  impulsively  she  swept  up  to  him  and  laid  her  hands 
on  his  shoulders,  looking  him  full  in  the  face. 

"  See  here,  you  thrice  dear  innocent,  since  you  have 
mentioned  that  terrible  word  *  love,'  the  complexion  of  our 
relation  has  changed  somewhat.  Don't  you  understand, 
made  as  I  am,  I  must  fight  seven  devils  within  me  if  I'm  to 
continue  to  play  fair  with  you,  as  I  swore  I  would?  And 
so,  just  because  you  are  so  very  much  to  me,  I  had  best 
not  see  you  too  often  until  I  have  settled  down  into  my 
new  scheme  of  life.  In  a  sense  Alaric  was  a  safeguard. 
That  safeguard's  gone." 

She  moved  a  step  back,  letting  her  hands  fall  at  her 
sides,  while  her  eyes  grew  hard  and  dark. 


THE    FAR     HORIZON  285 

"  And  there  are  other  reasons,  brutal,  unworthy,  sordid 
reasons,  why  it  is  wiser  that  you  should  not  come  here  often 
at  present.  They  did  not  exist— at  least  I  had  not  the 
faintest  conception  that  they  did — when  we  last  met. 
They  have  rushed  into  hateful  prominence  since.  Don't 
ask  me — I  cannot  tell  you.  You  must  trust  me,  and  you 
must  not  let  my  silence  alienate  you.  I  can't  be  explicit, 
but  I  give  you  my  word  I  am  perfectly  straight.  And  you 
must  not  let  your  religion  alienate  you  either.  By  the 
way,  what  form  of  faith  is  it  ?  " 

1  The  faith  of  my  own  people,"  Dominic  answered. 
"  The  faith  of  the  Catholic  Church." 

Poppy  smiled. 

"  Then  I  am  not  so  afraid  I  shall  lose  you,"  she  said, 
"  for  that's  the  only  brand  of  religion  I've  ever  come 
across  which  isn't  too  nice  to  reckon  with  human  nature 
as  it  really  is.  It  can  save  sinners,  just  because  it  knows 
how  to  make  saints — and  it  has  made  them  out  of  jolly 
unpromising  material  at  times,  there's  the  comfort  of  it." 

She  held  out  her  hand  in  farewell. 

"  Good-bye  till  next  time.  You've  done  me  good,  as 
you  always  do.  Now,  I  am  going  to  re-study  some  of  my 
old  parts,  just  to  get  the  hang  of  the  whole  show  again." 

But  the  door  once  shut,  she  flung  herself  down  on  the 
broad  settee,  while  the  tiny  dogs,  whimpering,  crowded 
upon  her  lap. 

"  Poppy  St.  John,  you're  not  such  a  bad  lot  after  all," 
she  cried.  "  But  oh !  oh !  oh !  it's  beastly  rough  to  be  so 
young,  and  have  gone  so  far,  and  know  so  much.  There, 
Willie  Onions,  don't  snivel.  It's  both  superfluous  and 
unpleasant."  She  sat  up  and  wiped  her  eyes.  "  Upon 
my  honour,  I  think  it  was  just  as  well  I  gave  Phillimore 
the  little  revolver  last  night,  to  lock  up  in  the  plate  chest," 
she  said. 


CHAPTER    XXIX 

IT  followed  that  Dominic  Iglesias  walked  on  across  the 
common  to  Barnes  Station  and  travelled  Citywards, 
solaced  and  uplifted  in  spirit,  yet  greatly  troubled  by 
the  idea  of  those  newly  arrived  complications  at  which 
the  Lady  of  the  Windswept  Dust  had  hinted.  He  did 
not  permit  himself  to  inquire  what  they  might  be.  Doubt- 
less she  knew  best — in  her  social  sense  he  had  great  con- 
fidence— so  he  acquiesced  in  her  silence  about  them.  Still, 
as  he  reflected,  it  is  not  a  little  lamentable  that  even 
friendship,  the  angelic  relation  between  man  and  woman, 
should  be  thus  beset  by  perils  from  within  and  pitfalls 
without.  Where  lay  the  fault — with  over-civilisation  and 
the  improper  proprieties  resultant  therefrom?  Or  was  it 
of  far  more  ancient  origin,  resident  in  the  very  founda- 
tions of  human  nature?  Woman,  eternally  the  vehicle  of 
man's  being,  eternally  the  inspiration  of  quite  three-fifths 
of  his  action ;  yet,  at  the  same  time,  the  eternal  stumbling 
block  and  danger  to  the  highest  of  his  moral  and  intellect- 
ual attainment !  Mr.  Iglesias  smiled  sadly  and  soberly  to 
himself  as  the  train  rolled  on  into  Waterloo.  In  any  case 
she  remains  the  most  astonishing  of  God's  creatures.  It 
would  be  dull  enough  here  on  earth  without  her,  though, 
to  employ  one  of  Poppy's  characteristic  phrases,  "  it's 
most  infernally  risky  "  with ! 

But  once  inside  the  bank,  such  far-ranging  meditations 
gave  place  to  considerations  immediate  and  concrete, 
Iglesias'  whole  mind  being  focussed  to  arrive  at  the  facts 
of  the  case.  And  this  was  far  from  easy.  For  alarm 
stalked  those  usually  self-secure  and  self-complacent  rooms 
and  glass  and  mahogany-walled  corridors ;  men  looking  up 

286 


THE    FAR    HORIZON  287 

/ 

from  their  desks  as  he,  Iglesias,  passed,  with  anxious  faces, 
or  moving  with  hushed  footsteps  as  though  someone  lay 
sick  to  death  within  the  house.  In  Sir  Abel  Barking's 
private  room  the  drama  reached  its  climax,  panic  sitting 
there  sensibly  enthroned.  Her  chill  presence  had  visibly 
affected  Sir  Abel,  causing  the  contrast  between  the  over- 
blown portrait  upon  the  wall  and  the  subject  of  it  to  be 
ironical  to  the  point  of  cruelty.  For  Sir  Abel  was  aged 
and  shrivelled.  His  clothes  hung  loose  upon  him.  Hardly 
could  he  rally  his  tongue  to  the  enunciation  of  a  single 
platitude  even  of  the  most  obviously  staring  sort.  The 
mighty,  indeed,  were  fallen  and  the  weapons  of  wealth- 
getting  perished !  Yet  never  had  Iglesias  felt  so  drawn  in 
sympathy  towards  his  late  employer,  for  the  spectre  of 
possible  ruin  had  made  Sir  Abel  almost  humble,  almost 
human. 

"  I  am  obliged  to  you  for  responding  to  my  summons 
so  promptly — yes,  sit  down,  my  good  friend,  sit  down,"  he 
said.  "  It  is  necessary  that  I  should  converse  with  you  at 
some  length,  and  I  refuse  to  keep  you  standing.  Our  pres- 
ent position  is  inexplicable  to  me.  Granting  that  my 
nephew  Reginald  is  unworthy  of  the  trust  we  reposed  in 
his  ability  and  probity,  there  was  still  our  own  judgment 
in  reserve,  and  our  own  unquestioned  capacity  to  meet  any 
strain  upon  our  resources.  That  our  confidence  in  these 
last  was  misplaced  is  still  incredible  to  me.  I  am  com- 
pletely baffled.  The  past  few  months,  indeed,  with  their 
reiterated  discovery  of  difficulty  and  of  loss,  have  been  a 
terrible  tax  upon  my  fortitude.  Veteran  financier  though 
I  am,  I  own  to  you,  Iglesias,  there  have  been  moments  when 
I  feared  that  I,  too,  should  give  way.  Only  my  sense  of  the 
duty  I  owe  to  my  own  reputation  has  supported  me."  Sir 
Abel  turned  sideways  in  his  chair.  His  eyes  sought  the 
derisive  portrait  upon  the  wall,  contemplation  of  which 
appeared  to  reanimate  his  self-confidence  somewhat,  for 


288  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

he  continued  in  his  larger  manner,  "  Nor  has  the  sting  of 
private  anxiety  been  lacking.  My  younger  son  has  been 
called  away  to  the  seat  of  war  under  circumstances  of  a 
peculiarly  affecting  character.  My  earnest  hopes  for  his 
future,  in  the  shape  of  a  very  desirable  marriage,  touched 
on  fulfilment '' 

But  here  Iglesias  intervened.  For  his  temper  began  to 
rise  at  the  mention  of  the  loves  of  Alaric  Barking.  If  the 
springs  of  Christian  charity,  just  now  welling  up  so 
sweetly  within  him,  were  not  to  run  incontinently  dry,  the 
conversation,  he  felt,  must  be  steadied  down  to  themes  of 
other  import.  So  he  civilly  but  definitely  requested  Sir 
Abel  to  "  come  to  Hecuba,"  and  to  Hecuba  the  poor  man, 
haltingly  yet  very  obediently,  came.  He  and  his  ex-head- 
clerk  seemed,  indeed,  to  have  changed  places,  so  that, 
before  the  end  of  the  interview,  Iglesias  began  to  measure 
himself  as  never  before,  to  realise  his  own  business  acumen, 
his  quickness  of  apprehension,  his  grasp  of  the  issues  pre- 
sented to  him  and  his  own  fearlessness  of  judgment. 
Whatever  the  upshot  as  to  the  eventual  saving  of  the  credit 
of  Messrs.  Barking  Brothers  &  Barking,  Iglesias  became 
increasingly  confident  of  his  own  power,  and  quietly  satis- 
fied in  the  exercise  of  it. 

And  so  it  happened  that,  although  tired  in  brain  and 
body,  his  mind  weighted  with  thought,  as  were  his  arms 
with  bundles  of  papers — which  he  carried  home  for  more 
leisurely  inspection — Iglesias  came  rapidly  up  the  white 
steps  of  Cedar  Lodge  that  night.  He  was  buoyant  in 
spirit,  content  with  his  day's  work,  keenly  interested  in 
the  development  of  it.  Using  his  latchkey  he  entered  the 
square  panelled  hall  silently — with  results,  for  revels  were 
in  progress  within. 

Dinner  was  over.  Mrs.  Porcher  and  the  great  Eliza, 
linked  arm  in  arm,  stood  near  the  dining-room  door  watch- 
ing, while  those  two  gay  young  sparks,  Farge  and  Worth- 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  289 

ington,  inspired  by  memories  of  a  recent  visit  to  the 
Hippodrome,  played  at  lions.  It  was  a  simple  game,  still 
it  gave  pleasure  to  the  players.  Clad  in  an  easy-fitting 
dark  blue  "  lounge  suit,"  with  narrow  white  cross-bar  lines 
on  it,  an  aged  and  faded  orange  sheep-skin  hearthrug 
thrown  gallantly  across  his  shoulders,  Farge,  on  all  fours, 
with  the  mildest  roarings  imaginable,  made  rushes  from 
under  the  dinner-table  at  the  devoted  Worthington,  who 
withstood  his  fiery  onslaught  with  lungings  and  brandish- 
ings  of  that  truly  classic  weapon,  the  humble  necessary 
umbrella.  At  each  rush  the  ladies  backed  and  tittered, 
clinging  together  with  the  most  engagingly  natural  sem- 
blance of  terror. 

"  Ha !  caitiff  wretch,  beware !  "  declaimed  Worthington 
nobly.  "  Only  across  my  prostrate  corse  shall  you  reach 
your  innocent  victims.  Say,  Charlie  boy,"  he  added  in  a 
hurried  aside,  "  I  didn't  poke  you  in  the  eye  by  mistake 
just  now,  did  I?  " 

"  Wurra — wurra — wurra,"  roared  Farge.  "  Never 
touched  me,  Bert,  by  a  couple  of  inches — wurra." 

But  there  the  would-be  ferocious  animal  paused,  squatted 
upon  its  haunches,  pointing  its  finger  dramatically  towards 
the  front  door,  thus  causing  the  whole  company  to  wheel 
round  and  gaze  nervously  in  the  direction  indicated. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Iglesias,  how  you  did  startle  me!"  Mrs. 
Porcher  cried  plaintively,  laying  her  hand  upon  her  heart. 

"  Pardon  me,"  he  answered.  "  I  had  no  idea  the  hall 
was  occupied  or  I  would  have  rung  instead  of  letting 
myself  in.  I  must  apologise  further  for  being  so  late, 
and  for  not  having  telephoned  that  I  should  be  unable  to 
be  back  in  time  for  dinner." 

"  We  all  know  that  there  are  counter-attractions,  which 
may  easily  account  for  unpunctuality,"  Miss  Hart  put  in, 
with  a  toss  of  her  head. 

"  Hush,  hush,  dear  Liz,"  murmured  Mrs.  Porcher,  while 


290  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

the  two  young  men  made  round  eyes  at  each  other,  and 
de  Courcy  Smyth,  leaning  against  the  balusters  on  the 
landing  of  the  half-flight,  announced  his  presence  by  a 
sarcastic  laugh. 

Mr.  Iglesias  looked  from  one  to  another  in  surprise. 
He  had  been  thinking  so  very  little — perhaps,  as  he  told 
himself,  insolently  little — about  all  these  good  people  for 
some  time  past.  Now  he  became  aware  of  a  hostile  atmos- 
phere. For  cause  unknown  he  was  in  disgrace  with  them 
all.  Possibly  they  resented  his  indifference,  possibly  they 
were  justified  in  so  doing.  Hence  he  did  not  feel  angry, 
but  merely  sorry  and  perplexed.  He  addressed  his  hostess 
with  increased  courtliness  of  bearing. 

"  I  hope  I  have  not  caused  you  inconvenience,  Mrs. 
Porcher,"  he  said.  "  I  was  summoned  suddenly  upon  bus- 
iness to  the  City  this  morning.  The  business  in  question 
proved  more  complicated  than  I  had  anticipated,  and  I 
was  detained  by  it  till  late.  This  leads  me  to  tell  you,  if 
you  will  forgive  my  troubling  you  with  personal  matters, 
that  I  shall  be  compelled  to  go  to  the  City  daily  for  some 
weeks  to  come.  I  shall  not,  therefore,  be  able  to  give  my- 
self the  pleasure  of  joining  you  at  luncheon,  or  probably 
at  dinner,  either." 

"  Indeed,"  Mrs."  Porcher  remarked.  "  This  is  rather 
unexpected,  Mr.  Iglesias." 

"  To  me  wholly  unexpected,"  he  answered,  "  and  in  some 
respects  unwelcome;  but  it  is  unavoidable,  unfortunately." 

He  bowed  gravely  to  the  two  ladies  and,  ignoring  the 
rest  of  the  little  company,  went  on  his  way  upstairs.  At 
the  half -flight  Smyth  stood  aside  to  let  him  pass;  then, 
after  a  moment's  hesitation,  followed  him. 

"  Mr.  Iglesias,"  he  said,  "  may  I  be  permitted  so  far  to 
presume  upon  our  acquaintance  as  to  remind  you  that  you 
received  a  letter  from  me  this  morning  requiring  an 
answer?  " 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  291 

' 

Dominic  paused  at  the  stair-head. 

"  Yes,  I  received  it,"  he  replied  coldly. 

"  And  you  condescended  to  read  it,  so  I  venture  to 
imagine,  notwithstanding  that  you  were  summoned  on 
important  business  to  the  City.  We  are  all  impressed  by 
that  interesting  fact — vastly  impressed  by  it,  needless  to 
state.  I  specially  so,  of  course,  since  commerce  in  all  its 
branches,  as  you  know,  commands  my  profoundest  admira- 
tion and  respect.  Literature  and  art  are  but  as  garbage 
compared  with  it — no  one  ever  recognised  that  gratifying 
truth  more  thoroughly  than  I  do  myself.  Still,  the  shop- 
keeper— I  beg  your  pardon,  financier  I  should  have  said — 
is  not  wholly  exempted,  by  the  ideal  character  of  his  call- 
ing, from  keeping  his  promises  even  to  poor  devils  of 
scholars  and  literary  men  such  as  myself." 

Smyth  swaggered,  his  hands  in  his  trouser  pockets,  his 
glance  at  once  impertinent  and  malevolent,  his  manner 
easy  to  the  point  of  insolence. 

"  I  venture  to  remind  you  of  my  letter,  therefore,  and 
I  may  add  I  shall  feel  obliged  if  you'll  just  hand  me  over 
those  notes  without  delay." 

"  I  read  your  letter,"  Iglesias  answered.  "  It  required 
consideration." 

"  Oh !  did  it,  really  ?  I  supposed  that  I  had  expressed 
myself  with  perfect  lucidity.  But  if  any  point  appeared 
to  you  to  need  explanation,  I  am  disengaged  at  the  present 
time — I  am  quite  willing  to  explain." 

"  Thank  you,"  Iglesias  answered,  "  no  explanation  is 
necessary  on  your  part,  I  believe,  though  perhaps  a  little 
is  on  mine.  I  must  ask  you  to  remember  that  I  promised 
to  help  you  within  reasonable  relation  to  my  means.  What 
constitutes  a  reasonable  relation  it  is  for  me  to  judge,  since 
I  alone  know  what  my  means  are.  I  regret  to  tell  you  that 
your  last  demand  greatly  exceeded  that  reasonable  rela- 
tion. I  am  therefore  reluctantly  obliged  to  refuse  it." 


292  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

"  To  refuse  it  ?  "  Smyth  exclaimed  incredulously. 

"  Yes,  to  refuse  it,"  Iglesias  said  calmly.  "  When  your 
play  is  ready  for  production  I  am  prepared  to  bear  the 
cost  of  two  representations,  as  I  have  already  told  you. 
But  I  am  not  prepared  to  make  you  unlimited  advances 
meanwhile.  To  do  so  would  be  no  kindness  to  you " 

"Wouldn't  it?"  Smyth  broke  out  excitedly.  "No 
kindness  to  me?  Do  you  imagine  I  want  kindness,  that 
I  would  accept  or  even  tolerate  kindness  from  any  man, 
and  particularly  from  you?  I  offer  you  a  magnificent 
investment,  and  you  speak  to  me  as  though  I  was  a  beggar 
asking  alms  in  the  street.  No  kindness  to  me?  This  high 
moral  tone  does  not  become  you  in  the  very  least,  let  me  tell 
you,  Mr.  Iglesias.  Do  you  suppose  I  am  such  a  stone- 
blind  ass  as  not  to  see  what  has  been  happening?  Doesn't 
it  occur  to  you  that  I  hold  your  reputation  in  my  two 
hands?" 

"  My  reputation  ?  "  Iglesias  repeated,  a  very  blaze  of 
pride  and  indignation  in  his  eyes. 

Smyth  backed  hastily  away  from  him,  with  a  livid  face 
and  shaking  knees. 

"  No,  no,  Mr.  Iglesias,"  he  protested.  "  I  was  a  fool 
to  say  that.  But  I  am  utterly  beaten  by  work  and  by 
worry.  I  do  not  deny  that  you  have  behaved  handsomely 
to  me.  But  persistent  injustice  and  cruelty  have  soured 
me.  Is  it  wonderful?  And  then  to-night  those  blatant 
young  idiots,  Farge  and  Worthington,  have  set  my  nerves 
on  edge  by  their  imbecility  and  conceit,  till  I  really  am  not 
accountable  for  what  I  say.  I  had  better  go.  We  can 
talk  of  this  at  another  time.  I  dare  say  I  can  manage  for 
a  day  or  two,  though  it  will  not  be  easy  to  do  so.  However, 
I  am  accustomed  to  rubbing  shoulders  with  every  created 
description  of  undeserved  indignity  and  wretchedness.  I 
will  go.  Good-night." 

Iglesias   entered  his   sitting-room,   turned  up   the  gas, 


THE     FAR     HORIZON 

and  looked  round  at  the  orderly  aspect  of  the  place  with 
a  movement  of  relief.  He  ranged  the  bundles  of  papers 
upon  the  table.  If  he  was  to  master  their  contents  he 
would  have  to  work  far  into  the  night,  and  the  day  had 
been  a  long  one,  full  of  application  and  of  very  varied 
emotions.  He  stood  for  a  little  space  thinking  of  it  all. 
Thje  return  to  his  familiar  quarters  at  the  bank  had  af- 
fected him  less  than  he  had  expected.  He  had  not  felt  it 
as  a  return  to  slavery. 

"Thanks  to  the  Church,"  he  said  gratefully,  "which 
confers  on  her  members  the  only  perfect  freedom,  namely, 
freedom  of  soul,  freedom  of  heavenly  citizenship." 

Then  he  thought  of  Poppy — thought  very  tenderly  of 
that  strangely  captivating  woman  of  many  moods !  How 
clever  she  was,  how  accurately  she  knew  the  ways  of  men ! 
Her  warnings  regarding  his  dabbling  in  matters  theatrical, 
for  instance,  and  charities  to  unsuccessful  playwrights. — 
And  at  that  point  Dominic  Iglesias  drew  himself  up  short. 
For,  in  a  flash,  the  truth  came  to  him  that  Poppy  St.  John's 
hated  "  j  ackal  of  a  husband  "  was  none  other  than  his 
fellow-lodger,  de  Courcy  Smyth,  whose  shuffling  footsteps 
he  heard  even  now,  nervelessly  crossing  and  recrossing  the 
floor  of  the  room  immediately  above. 


CHAPTER    XXX 

"  I  COULD  not  write,  Rhoda,  because  of  course  I  could  not 
be  sure  beforehand  whether,  when  I  came  to  London,  I 
should  really  wish  to  see  you  and  George  again  or  not." 
This  from  Serena,  loftily  and  with  rustlings.  "  But  as 
Lady  Samuelson  was  driving  in  this  direction  to-day,  and 
offered  to  drop  me  here  if  I  could  find  my  own  way  back, 
I  thought  I  had  better  come,  as  I  knew  it  was  your  after- 
noon at  home." 

"  And  I  am  sure  for  my  part  I  am  very  pleased  to  have 
you  come,"  Mrs.  Lovegrove  replied,  leading  the  way  to- 
wards the  seat  of  honour  upon  the  Chesterfield  sofa.  "  I 
always  do  hold  with  letting  bygones  be  bygones,  partic- 
ularly as  between  relatives,  when  there  has  been  any  little 
unpleasantness.  And  perhaps  your  calling  will  cheer  poor 
Georgie  up.  He  is  very  tenacious  of  your  and  Susan's 
affection,  is  Georgie." 

Here  the  speaker  proceeded  to  swallow  rather  convul- 
sively, pressing  her  handkerchief  against  her  lips. 

"  Perhaps  I  should  be  wiser  to  keep  it  all  to  myself,"  she 
added,  not  without  agitation.  "  But  the  sight  of  you  does 
bring  up  so  much.  And  I  am  sorry  to  tell  you,  Serena, 
things  are  not  as  happy  as  they  used  to  be  in  this 
house." 

The  office  of  ministering  angel  was  not,  it  must  be  con- 
ceded, exactly  native  to  Serena,  her  sympathies  being 
restricted,  the  reverse  of  acute.  But,  at  a  push,  curiosity 
has  been  known  to  supply  the  place  of  sympathy  very 
passably;  and  of  curiosity  Serena  had  always  a  large 
stock  at  the  service  of  her  friends  and  acquaintance. 

"  I  wonder  why,"  she  therefore  observed  in  reply  to  her 

294, 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  295 

' 

hostess's  concluding  remark — "  I  mean  I  wonder  why 
things  should  not  be  as  happy  as  they  used  to  be?  " 

"  I  trace  the  commencement  of  it  all  to  the  time  when 
you  were  visiting  here  last  November — not  that  I  mean 
you  were  in  any  way  to  blame " 

Serena  interrupted  with  spirit : 

"  No,  pray  do  not  connect  anything  which  occurred  then 
with  me,  Rhoda.  I  think  it  would  be  most  misplaced. 
After  all  that  I  have  had  to  go  through  I  really  should 
have  thought  it  only  delicate  on  your  part  never  to  refer  to 
what  took  place  during  my  visit.  I  certainly  should  have 
hesitated  about  coming  here  to-day  if  I  had  supposed  either 
you  or  George  would  have  referred  to  it. — What  dreadfully 
bad  taste  of  Rhoda !  "  she  added  mentally.  "  I  believe  I 
had  better  go.  That  would  mark  my  displeasure,  and 
teach  her  to  be  more  guarded  with  me  in  future.  But  then 
perhaps  she  has  something  to  say  which  I  really  ought  to 
know.  Perhaps  it  would  be  a  mistake  to  go.  Perhaps  I 
had  better  stay.  I  do  not  want  to  be  too  harsh  with 
Rhoda." 

The  truth  being  that  she  actually  itched  to  hear  more. 
For,  to  Serena,  her  wholly  imaginary  love  episode  with 
Mr.  Iglesias  represented  the  most  vivid  of  all  the  very 
limited  experiences  of  her  life.  Her  affections  had  not 
been  engaged,  since  she  possessed  no  affections  in  any  vital 
sense  of  that  word.  But  she  had  been  flattered  and  ex- 
cited. She  had  seemed  to  herself  to  occupy  a  most  interest- 
ing position,  demanding  infinite  tact.  During  the  months 
which  had  elapsed  she  had  rehearsed  the  history  of  every 
incident,  of  every  hour  of  intercourse,  with  Dominic 
Iglesias,  a  thousand  times ;  weighing  each  word,  discount- 
ing every  look  of  his,  indulging  in  unlimited  speculation 
and  analysis,  until  the  proportions  of  that  which  had  oc- 
curred were  magnified  beyond  all  possibility  of  recognition, 
let  alone  of  sane  relation  to  fact.  To  herself2  therefore, 


296  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

Serena  had  become  the  heroine  of  an  elaborate  intrigue. 
This  greatly  increased  her  importance  in  her  own  eyes ; 
and,  though  she  was  studiously  silent  regarding  the  sub- 
ject save  in  indirect  allusion,  the  said  self-importance,  re- 
acting upon  those  about  her,  gained  both  for  herself  and 
her  opinions  a  degree  of  consideration  to  which  she  was 
unaccustomed  and  which  she  highly  relished.  Never  had 
Serena  presented  so  bold  a  front  to  her  philanthropic  and 
very  possessive  elder  sister.  Never  had  she  enjoyed  so 
much  attention  in  the  small  and  rigidly  select  circle  of 
Slowby  society,  in  which  she  and  Miss  Susan  moved. 
Serena  spoke  with  authority  upon  all  subjects,  on  the 
strength  of  a  purely  fictitious  affair  of  the  heart.  She 
is  not  the  first  woman  who  has  made  capital  out  of  the  non- 
existent in  this  kind,  nor  will  she  probably  be  the  last! 
Nevertheless,  she  was  very  far  from  admitting  the  great 
benefit  which  Mr.  Iglesias  had  so  unconsciously  conferred 
upon  her.  She  regarded  herself  as  a  deeply  injured  person 
— irreparably  injured,  but  for  her  own  diplomacy,  admir- 
able caution,  knowledge  of  the  world  and  self-respect. 

"  I  am  well  aware  it  is  a  trying  subject  to  approach," 
Mrs.  Lovegrove  replied,  with  praiseworthy  mildness. 
"  And  I  am  far  from  blaming  you  for  turning  from  it, 
Serena.  I  am  sure  it  has  weighed  sadly  on  my  mind  and 
on  George's,  too.  Not  that  he  has  said  much,  but  I  could 
see  how  he  felt;  and  then  a  great  deal  has  come  out  since. 
That  is  why  I  am  so  gratified  to  have  you  call  here  to-day, 
and  so  will  Georgie  be.  He  has  taken  it  dreadfully  to 
heart  finding  how  we  have  all  been  taken  in,  and  seeing 
how  wrong  it  must  put  him  with  you  and  with  Susan." 

"  It  is  very  proper  that  you  should  say  that,  Rhoda," 
the  other  observed  with  condescension.  "  I  think  you  owe 
it  to  me  to  express  regret.  I  should  have  been  sorry  if 
George  had  proved  indifferent,  for  I  have  been  very  care- 
ful in  what  I  have  told  Susan.  Of  course,  I  might  have 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  297 

y 

spoken  strongly.  I  think  anyone  would  admit  I  should 
have  been  quite  justified  in  doing  so.  But  I  wished  to 
spare  George.  Mamma  was  very  much  attached  to  him, 
and  of  course  he  was  constantly  with  us  in  old  days,  before 
his  marriage." 

It  was  significant  of  the  wife's  humble  state  that  she 
received  this  thrust  without  a  murmur. 

"  Poor  Georgie  was  too  upset  to  tell  even  me  for  a  long 
time,"  she  continued  somewhat  irrelevantly,  "  and  you  may 
judge  by  that  how  badly  he  felt.  He  knew  how  shocked 
I  should  be,  and  that  I  should  take  it  as  such  an  insult  to 
the  dear  vicar,  after  all  his  kindness,  that  any  friend  of 
ours  whom  he  had  talked  to  in  this  house  should  turn 
Romanist." 

"Who?     What?"  cried  Serena. 

She  had  determined  to  maintain  a  superior  and  impassive 
attitude,  but  at  this  point  curiosity  became  rampant,  re- 
fusing further  circumlocution  or  delay. 

"  Why,  Mr.  Iglesias,  to  be  sure,"  Mrs.  Lovegrove 
answered,  hardly  restraining  evidences  of  satisfaction. 
The  news  was  lamentable,  no  doubt;  but  to  have  it  miss 
fire  in  the  recital  of  it  would  have  made  it  ten  times  more 
lamentable  still.  "  And  the  worst  of  it  was,"  she  continued, 
refreshed  by  the  effect  upon  her  hearer,  "  he  kept  it  dark 
for  we  don't  in  the  least  know  how  long.  He  mentioned  no 
dates,  and  poor  Georgie  was  too  upset  to  ask  him.  Of 
course  it  is  well  known  how  double  Romanists  are  always 
taught  to  be — not  that  I  was  ever  acquainted  with  any. 
You  never  meet  them  out,  I  am  glad  to  think,  where  we 
visit.  Still,  that  Mr.  Iglesias,  who  was  quite  one  of  our- 
selves, as  you  may  say,  so  intimate  and  always  appearing 
the  perfect  gentleman,  so  open  and  honest— 

"  Ah !  there  you  are  wrong,  Rhoda,"  the  other  lady  put 
in  with  decision,  while  making  a  violent  effort  to  recover 
her  impassivity  and  superiority.  "You  and  George  may; 


298  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

be  surprised,  but  I  am  not.  I  always  had  my  suspicions  of 
Mr.  Iglesias.  I  told  you  so  more  than  once.  At  the 
time  you  and  George  were  annoyed.  Now  you  see  I  was 
right.  I  am  seldom  mistaken.  Even  Susan  admits  I  am 
very  observant.  After  his  extraordinary  behaviour  to  me 
I  should  not  be  surprised  at  anything  which  Mr.  Iglesias 
might  do."  She  paused,  breathless  but  triumphant. 
"  Have  you  seen  him  since  all  this  came  out,  Rhoda?  " 

"  Oh,  no.  He  has  called  twice,  but  fortunately  Georgie 
was  out  walking.  He  goes  out  walking  a  great  deal  now, 
does  Georgie."  The  speaker  heaved  a  voluminous  sigh. 
Her  satisfaction  had  been  short-lived.  "  And  I  told  the 
girl,  if  Mr.  Iglesias  asked  for  me,  to  say  I  was  particularly 
engaged.  He  has  written  to  Georgie.  I  know  that — a 
long  letter — but  I  have  not  been  asked  to  read  it." 

Mrs.  Lovegrove  pressed  her  handkerchief  against  her 
lips  again,  agitation  gaining  her. 

"  After  all  these  years  of  marriage,  you  know,  Serena, 
it  is  a  very  cutting  thing  to  have  any  concealment  be- 
tween me  and  Georgie.  I  should  not  mention  it  to  you  but 
that  you  were  here  when  it  commenced.  I  never  supposed 
— no,  never,  never — there  could  be  any  coldness  between 
him  and  me.  When  I  have  heard  others  speak  of  trouble 
with  their  husbands,  I  have  always  pitied  the  poor  things 
from  my  heart,  but  held  them  mainly  responsible.  Now  I 
think  differently " 

"  Miss  Eliza  Hart,  mum."  This  shrilly  from  the  little 
house-parlourmaid. 

Serena  rose  as  well  as  her  hostess.  Superiority  coun- 
selled departure ;  curiosity  urged  remaining. 

"  Of  course,  I  should  feel  justified  in  staying  if  Rhoda 
pressed  me  to  .do  so,"  she  said  to  herself.  And  Rhoda, 
in  the  very  act  of  greeting  her  new  guest,  did  press  her 
to  do  so. 

"  Surely  you  are  not  leaving  yet?  "  she  said  plaintively. 


THE     FAR     HORIZON 
if 

"  It  would  hurt  me  not  to  have  you  stay  to  tea,  and 
Georgie  would  be  sadly  disappointed  to  think  he  had  missed 
you." 

Thus  admonished,  Serena  graciously  consented  to  re- 
main. Miss  Hart,  as  last  arrival,  being  necessarily  invited 
to  assume  the  place  of  honour  upon  the  sofa,  Serena 
selected  a  chair  at  as  great  a  distance  from  that  historic 
article  of  furniture  as  the  exigencies  of  conversation  per- 
mitted. "  I  must  show  her  that  I  stay  not  to  see  her,  but 
solely  on  Georgie's  account,"  she  commented  inwardly. 
"  I  have  been  very  cold  in  manner.  I  think  she  must  have 
observed  that." 

But  the  great  Eliza  was  in  a  militant  humour,  not  easily 
abashed.  She  had  called  with  intentions,  in  the  interests 
of  which  she  plunged  volubly  into  talk. 

"  You  will  excuse  my  coming  without  Peachie  Porcher, 
Mrs.  Lovegrove,"  she  began.  "  She  was  all  anxiety  to 
come,  too,  fearing  you  might  think  her  neglectful.  But 
I  prevented  it.  She  overrates  her  strength,  does  Peachie, 
and  to-day  her  neuralgia  is  cruel.  *  I'll  run  across  and 
account  for  you,'  I  said  to  her.  *  You  just  lie  down  and 
take  a  nap,  and  let  the  housemaid  bring  you  up  a  little 
something  with  your  tea,  and  take  it  early.'  '  It's  not 
more  nourishment  I  require,  but  less  worry,  Liz  dear,'  she 
said.  And  so  it  is,  Mrs.  Lovegrove." 

"  We  all  have  our  troubles,  Miss  Hart,  and  often  unsus- 
pected ones  which  call  for  silence." 

The  wife's  large  cheeks  quivered  ominously,  while  Serena 
rustled — but  whether  in  sympathetic  agreement  with  the 
sentiments  expressed  by  the  last  speaker,  or  in  protest 
against  the  presence  of  the  former  one,  it  would  be  difficult 
to  determine. 

"  I  wonder  whether  that  is  not  best,  Rhoda — I  mean  I 
wonder  whether  it  is  not  best  to  be  silent,"  she  remarked 
reflectively.  "  I  think  people  are  not  usually  half  cautious 


800  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

enough  what  they  tell.  So  many  disagreeables  can  be 
avoided  if  you  are  really  on  your  guard.  Mamma  im- 
pressed that  upon  us  when  we  were  children.  I  am  very 
careful,  but  I  often  think  Susan  is  hardly  careful  enough. 
Most  troubles  arise  through  trusting  other  people  too 
much." 

"  And  that's  poor  darling  Peachie  all  over,"  Miss  Hart 
declared,  with  a  fine  appreciation  of  opportunity.  "  Too 
great  trustfulness  has  been  her  worst  fault,  as  I  always 
tell  her,  the  generous  pet.  Not  that  all  our  gentlemen  are 
ungrateful,  Mrs.  Lovegrove.  I  would  not  have  you  sup- 
pose that.  Poor  Mr.  Smyth,  for  instance,  whom  I'm 
afraid  I  have  accused  of  being  very  surly  and  bearish  at 
times,  has  come  out  wonderfully  lately.  But  it  must  be 
a  hard  nature,  indeed,  which  Peachie's  influence  would  not 
soften.  One  such  nature  I  am  acquainted  with."  Eliza 
paused,  looking  from  one  to  other  of  her  hearers  with 
much  meaning.  "  But  it  is  not  the  case  with  poor  Mr. 
Smyth.  He  has  yielded.  Then  there  is  the  tie  of  an  un- 
fortunate domestic  past  between  him  and  Peachie,  which 
helps  to  bring  them  together. — Of  course  that  means 
nothing  to  you,  Mrs.  Lovegrove." 

The  lady  addressed  swallowed  convulsively. 

"  But  all  are  not  blessed  with  such  good  fortune  as 
yours,"  the  great  Eliza  continued.  "  Mr.  Smyth  has  been 
very  open  with  Peachie  recently.  He  has  some  surprising 
tales  to  tell,  knowing  very  well  all  that  is  going  on  in 
society.  And  that  reminds  me  of  a  certain  gentleman  who 
does  not  live  a  thousand  miles  from  here.  Mr.  Smyth  has 
hinted  at  much  that  is  very  startling  in  that  direction." 

The  speaker  paused  again. 

"  Would  it  be  intrusive  to  ask  whether  you  have  been 
favoured  with  much  of  Mr.  Iglesias'  company  during  the 
last  few  weeks,  Mrs.  Lovegrove?  "  she  added. 

Ruddy  mottlings  bespread  the  wife's  kindly  countenance. 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  301 

y 

Serena  moved  slightly  upon  her  chair.  She  was  conscious 
of  growing  excitement. 

"  Perhaps  not  quite  so  much  as  formerly ;  but  then  Mr. 
Lovegrove  has  been  out  walking  most  evenings.  The 
warmer  weather  always  causes  him  to  feel  the  need  of 
exercise,"  the  excellent  woman  returned,  putting  heroic 
restraint  upon  herself.  "  And  I  have  been  very  occupied 
with  the  spring  cleaning.  I  make  it  a  duty  to  look  into 
everything  myself,  you  know,  Miss  Hart.  Not  but  what 
my  girls  are  very  good.  I  think  all  the  talk  about  trouble 
with  the  servants  is  very  much  exaggerated.  Our  cook, 
Fanny,  has  been  with  us  quite  a  number  of  years.  Still, 
I  hold  it  is  well  for  them  to  have  a  mistress's  supervision  if 
the  cleaning  is  to  be  thorough.  If  you  see  to  it  your- 
self, then  you  can  have  nobody  to  blame.  And  so  I  have 
had  frequently  to  deny  myself  to  visitors." 

She  gave  a  sigh  of  relief,  trusting  she  had  loyally  steered 
the  conversation  into  safer  channels.  But  the  great  Eliza 
was  not  thus  to  be  thwarted. 

"  I  asked  on  Peachie  Porcher's  account,"  she  declared, 
"  not  on  my  own,  Mrs.  Lovegrove.  It  is  all  of  less  than 
no  consequence  to  me,  except  for  the  sake  of  Cedar  Lodge, 
how  a  certain  gentleman  spends  his  time.  But  Peachie's 
interests  must  be  protected.  With  an  establishment  such 
as  ours  a  good  name  is  everything.  '  You  cannot  be  too 
particular ;  for  any  talk  of  fastness,  and  the  place  must  go 
down,'  as  she  says  to  me " 

But  here,  the  wife's  natural  rectitude  and  sense  of  justice 
triumphed  over  prejudice  and  wounded  sensibilities. 

"  I  am  sure  I  could  never  believe  anyone  would  have 
occasion  to  accuse  Mr.  Iglesias  of  fastness,"  she  said. 
"  Of  course,  the  change  of  religion  is  dreadful,  particu- 
larly in  one  who  should  have  known  better,  though  a 
foreigner,  having  had  the  advantage  of  being  brought  up 
in  England.  Nobody  can  be  more  aware  of  that  than  my- 


302  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

self  and  Mr.  Lovegrove.  It  has  been  a  sad  grief  to  us  "— 
her  voice  quavered — "  and  no  doubt  early  rising  and  fish 
meals  do  make  a  lot  of  work  and  unpleasantness  in  a  house- 
hold. But  as  to  fastness,  well,  Miss  Hart,  I  cannot  find 
it  in  my  conscience  to  agree  to  anything  as  bad  as  that." 

With  preternatural  solemnity  the  great  Eliza  shook  her 
head. 

"  Seeing  is  believing,  Mrs.  Lovegrove,"  she  replied. 
"  And  when  ladies  call,  dressed  in  the  tiptop  of  the 
fashion !  Very  stylish,  no  doubt,  but  not  quite  the  style 
Peachie  Porcher  can  countenance,  circumstanced  as  we 
are  with  our  gentleman  guests.  Then  there  is  what  Mr. 
Smyth  hinted  at  subsequently,  just  in  a  friendly  way.  He 
did  not  say  he  was  actually  acquainted  with  the  lady,  but 
intimated  that  he  could  say  very  much  more  if  he  chose. 
No,  Mrs.  Lovegrove,  I  regret  to  speak,  knowing  how  long 
you  and  a  certain  gentleman  have  been  acquainted,  but 
there  can  be  no  question  Peachie  Porcher's  interests  have 
been  trifled  with,  and  her  affections  also." 

Here  aggressive  rustlings  on  the  part  of  Serena  arrested 
the  flow  of  Miss  Hart's  eloquence. 

"You  spoke,  I  believe,  Miss  Lovegrove?"  she  inquired. 

"  No,  I  did  not  speak,"  Serena  cried. — "  Vulgar,  design- 
ing person,  what  presumption ! "  she  cried  to  herself. 
"  Anyone  would  feel  insulted  by  her  manner.  She  thinks 
she  has  put  me  at  a  disadvantage.  But  she  is  mistaken. 
I  know  more  than  she  supposes."  She  was  greatly  en- 
raged; for,  unreasonable  though  it  may  appear,  if  trifling 
were  about  on  the  part  of  Dominic  Iglesias,  Serena  reserved 
to  herself  a  monopoly  in  respect  of  it.  Few  things,  per- 
haps, are  more  galling  to  a  woman  than  the  assertion  that 
a  Lovelace  has  been  guilty  of  misleading  attentions  to 
others  besides  herself.  If  she  is  not  the  solitary  object 
of  his  affections,  let  her  at  least  be  the  solitary  victim  of 
his  perfidy.  And  that  Mrs.  Porcher  should  aspire  to  share 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  303 

jf 

her  role  of  betrayed  one  was,  to  Serena,  a  piece  of  unheard- 
of  impertinence.  She  refused  to  bestow  further  attention 
upon  Miss  Hart,  and  turned  haughtily  to  her  hostess. 

"  Have  you  any  idea  when  George  will  be  in,  Rhoda  ?  I 
am  quite  willing  to  wait  a  reasonable  time  for  him,  but  I 
cannot  be  expected  to  wait  indefinitely.  I  must  consider 
Lady  Samuelson.  It  is  a  long  distance  to  Ladbroke  Square 
— of  course  Trimmer's  Green  is  very  far  out — and  I  have 
to  dress  for  dinner.  Everything  is  very  well  done  at  Lady 
Samuelson's,  and  she  makes  a  great  point  of  punctuality. 
Of  course  it  is  no  difficulty  to  me  to  be  punctual.  I  was 
brought  up  to  be  so.  Mamma  was  always  extremely  par- 
ticular about  our  being  in  time.  She  said  it  was  very  rude 
to  be  late.  I  think  it  is  rude,  and  so,  of  course,  punctu- 
ality is  quite  natural  to  me.  But  I  do  object  to  being 
hurried;  and  so,  unless  George  is  likely  to  be  in  almost 
directly,  I  really  must  go,  Rhoda." 

"  I  should  be  very  mortified  to  have  you  leave  before  he 
comes  back.  It  would  be  a  sore  disappointment  to  Georgie 
to  find  you  had  been  here  and  he  had  missed  you,"  the  good 
creature  pleaded. 

"  And  it's  something  quite  new  for  Mr.  Lovegrove  to  be 
out  on  your  at-home  day,  isn't  it  ?  "  Eliza  put  in,  not  with- 
out covert  sarcasm.  "  I  never  remember  to  have  known  it 
happen  before." 

"  Mrs.  and  Miss  Ballard,  please,  mum  " — this  from  the 
house-parlourmaid. 

Mrs.  Lovegrove  arose  with  alacrity,  retail  trade  and  non- 
conformity alike  forgiven. 

"  I  am  afraid  Miss  Hart  grows  very  spiteful,"  she  said  to 
herself.  "  I  wish  she  would  go.  I  should  be  vexed  to  have 
her  outsit  Serena. — Well,  Mrs.  Ballard,  very  pleased,  I 
am  sure,  to  see  you  " — this  aloud — "  and  your  daughter, 
too.  The  spring  is  coming  on  nicely,  is  it  not?  Quite 
warm  this  afternoon,  walking?  I  dare  say  it  is.  You  and 


304.  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

rny  husband's  cousin,  Miss  Lovegrove,  have  met,  I  believe? 
Miss  Ballard,  Miss  Lovegrove. — Are  you  going,  Miss 
Hart?  Kind  regards  to  Mrs.  Porcher,  and  sincere  hopes 
she  may  soon  lose  her  neuralgia.  Very  trying  complaint, 
Mrs.  Ballard,  is  it  not? — and  very  prevalent,  so  they  tell 
me,  this  year. — Why,  you're  never  going  to  leave,  too, 
Serena?  You'll  come  again,  or  Georgie  will  be  so 
troubled." 

But  Serena  held  out  small  hope  of  her  reappearance. 

"  Of  course  I  should  be  glad  to  see  George,  but  I  could 
not  bind  myself  to  anything,  Rhoda.  You  see,  Lady 
Samuelson  " — the  Ballard  ladies,  mother  and  daughter, 
looked  at  one  another,  fluttered  and  impressed — "  Lady 
Samuelson,"  Serena  repeated,  her  voice  rising  a  little,  "  has 
such  a  number  of  engagements,  and  of  course  if  she  wishes 
to  take  me  with  her  I  cannot  refuse.  At  home  she  always 
likes  me  to  help  entertain.  I  really  have  very  little  time 
to  call  my  own,  and  so  I  should  not  feel  justified  in  making 
any  promise.  Of  course  it  was  just  a  chance  my  being 
able  to  come  to-day.  You  can  tell  George  I  am  sorry  not 
to  have  seen  him.  I  should  like  him  to  know  that  I  am 
sorry." 

"  You  are  very  kind,  Serena,"  the  other  said  humbly. 

"  I  think  Rhoda  has  improved,"  Serena  said  to  herself, 
as  she  walked  across  Trimmer's  Green  between  the  black 
iron  railings.  "  I  think  she  has  more  sense  of  my  position 
than  she  did.  I  wonder  whether  she  thinks  that  if  Mr. 
Iglesias  had  proposed  I  should  have  accepted  him.  Of 
course  she  thinks  I  was  very  badly  treated.  I  think  her 
manner  shows  that.  Certainly  she  took  his  part  rather 
against  that  odious  Miss  Hart.  But  I  don't  believe  she 
really  sided  with  him.  I  think  she  only  appeared  to  do  so 
to  snub  Miss  Hart.  Of  course  if  she  had  stayed,  I  should 
have  had  to  stay,  too.  I  should  have  owed  it  to  myself  to 
do  so.  But,  as  she  went,  there  was  no  object  in  staying; 


THE    FAR     HORIZON  305 

jf 

and  it  was  wiser  to  seem  quite  indifferent  about  seeing 
George.  I  hope  he  won't  attempt  to  call  upon  me  at  Lady 
Samuelson's !  I  should  hardly  think  he  would  presume  to 
do  that.  I  must  tell  the  butler,  if  a  gentleman  calls,  to 
say  I  am  not  at  home.  If  it  was  only  George  it  would  not 
so  much  matter,  but  I  could  not  run  the  chance  of  having 
Lady  Samuelson  and  Rhoda  meet.  It  would  not  do  at  all 
to  have  Rhoda  climbing  into  society  through  me.  I  think 
it  is  too  bad  to  have  people  make  use  of  you  like  that. 
And  Rhoda  has  no  tact.  I  see  I  must  be  on  my  guard 
with  George  and  Rhoda.  I  wonder  whether  I  had  better 
tell  Susan  Mr.  Iglesias  has  become  a  Roman  Catholic? 
Of  course  she  would  think  I  had  had  a  great  escape;  but 
in  any  case  that  does  not  excuse  him.  He  behaved  very 
badly.  I  don't  believe  for  an  instant  he  ever  took  any 
notice  of  Mrs.  Porcher.  I  believe  that  is  an  entire  inven- 
tion. I  wonder  if  the  lady  who  called  is  the  same  lady  we 

saw  at  the  theatre " 

And  so  on,  and  so  on,  all  the  way  home  by  the  Uxbridge 
Road,  and  Netting  Hill,  and  then  northward  to  the  august 
retirement  of  Lady  Samuelson's  large  corner  house  in  Lad- 
broke  Square.  For  a  deeply  injured  person  Serena  had 
really  enjoyed  herself  very  much. 


CHAPTER    XXXI 

THE  burden  of  August,  dense  and  heavy,  lay  upon  Lon- 
don. Radiating  outward  in  lifeless  and  dull-glaring  sun- 
shine, it  involved  the  nearer  suburbs;  so  that  Dominic 
Iglesias,  sitting  on  a  bench  beside  the  roadway  crossing 
Barnes  Common,  notwithstanding  the  hour — past  six 
o'clock — and  the  open  space  surrounding  him,  found  the 
atmosphere  hardly  less  oppressive  than  that  of  the  streets. 
The  great  world,  which  plays,  had  departed  The  little 
world,  outnumbering  the  great  by  some  five  or  six  millions, 
which  works,  remained.  And  Dominic  Iglesias,  since  he  too 
worked,  remained  likewise,  sharing  with  it  the  burden  of  the 
August  heat  and  languor;  and  sharing  also,  to-day  being 
Sunday,  its  weekly  going  forth  over  the  face  of  the 
scorched  and  sun-seared  land  seeking  rest,  and,  too  often, 
finding  none. 

For  the  past  two  months  he  had  seen  Poppy  St.  John  but 
seldom,  nor  had  he  heard  from  her.  Whether  by  accident 
or  by  design  he  knew  not,  she  had  rarely  been  at  home  on 
those  occasions  when  he  had  been  free  to  call.  For  the  last 
three  weeks  she  had  been  away  up  the  river,  so  he  under- 
stood, with  her  friend  Dot  Parris — alias  Miss  Charlotte 
Colthurst.  A  blight  seemed  to  Iglesias  to  have  fallen  upon 
his  and  her  friendship,  ever  since  the  day  of  his  return  to 
Messrs.  Barking  Brothers  &  Barking;  and  his  discovery, 
or  rather  divination,  of  the  relation  in  which  de  Courcy 
Smyth  stood  to  her.  While  her  husband  remained  name- 
less, an  unknown  quantity,  Dominic  deplored  the  fact  of 
her  marriage,  but  as  an  abstraction.  So  soon  as  that  fact 
had  acquired  in  his  mind — whether  rightly  or  wrongly — a 
name  and  local  habitation,  now  that  he  was  liable  to  meet 

306 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  307 

y 

it  daily  incarnate — and  that  in  most  unsavoury  shape — 
liable  to  be  constantly  reminded  of  its  near  neighbourhood, 
to  witness  a  thousand  and  one  unpleasing  peculiarities  of 
speech,  habit,  and  manner,  unlooked-for  emotions  arose  in 
Iglesias,  and  those  of  a  character  of  which  he  was  by  no 
means  proud.  Resentment  took  him,  indignation,  strange 
movements  of  jealousy  and  hatred;  all  very  natural,  no 
doubt,  but  decidedly  bad  for  the  soul.  It  was  idle  for  him 
to  remind  himself  that  his  belief  regarding  de  Courcy 
Smyth  was  based  upon  supposition,  upon  circumstantial 
evidence  which  might  prove  merely  coincident.  He  could 
not  rid  himself  of  that  belief,  nor  of  the  emotional  con- 
sequences of  it ;  and  these  so  vexed  him  that  he  questioned 
whether  it  would  not  be  better  to  remove  from  Cedar  Lodge 
and  seek  a  domicile  uninfected  by  the  perpetual  provoca- 
tion of  the  man's  presence.  But  it  was  not  easy  to  give  a 
plausible  reason  to  his  hostess  for  any  immediate  change  of 
residence ;  nor  was  it  easy,  in  the  present  stress  of  business 
at  the  bank,  to  find  time  or  energy  for  house-hunting. 
The  atmosphere  of  Cedar  Lodge  had  become  inimical.  His 
rooms  had  ceased  to  be  a  place  of  security  and  repose. 
Yet  whither  should  he  go?  The  great  wilderness  of  Lon- 
don seemed  vastly  inhospitable  when  it  came  to  the  question 
of  selecting  a  new  dwelling-place. 

Meanwhile,  he  was  grievously  conscious  of  the  growing 
estrangement  between  himself  and  Poppy  St.  John,  which 
he  connected,  in  some  way,  with  this  haunting  yet  unspoken 
suspicion  of  her  relation  to  de  Courcy  Smyth — a  suspicion 
which  tended  to  rob  intercourse  of  all  spontaneity  by  in- 
troducing into  it  a  spirit  of  embarrassment  and  constraint. 
He  would  have  given  so  very  much  to  know  the  truth  and 
be  able  to  reckon  finally  with  it;  but  he  judged  it  unper- 
missible  that  he  should  approach  the  ugly  subject  first.  It 
was  Poppy's  affair,  her  private  and  unlovely  property. 
While  she  elected  to  keep  silence,  therefore,  it  would  be  dis- 


308  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

loyal  for  him  to  speak.  Still  it  distressed  him,  adding  to 
his  mental  and  emotional  unrest.  The  happiness  might 
have  gone  out  of  their  intercourse,  yet  there  were  times 
when  he  wearied  for  sight  and  for  speech  of  her  more  than 
he  quite  cared  to  admit.  George  Lovegrove  still  held  aloof. 
Dominic  rallied  his  faith  in  the  divine  purpose,  rallied  his 
obedience  to  the  divine  ruling,  fixed  his  eyes  more  patiently 
upon  the  promise  of  the  far  horizon ;  yet  it  must  be  owned 
he  felt  very  friendless  and  sad  at  heart. 

To-day,  driven  in  part  by  that  f riendlessness,  he  had  come 
out  on  the  chance  of  gaining  some  news  of  Poppy.  Dis- 
appointment, however,  awaited  him.  For  the  discreet 
Phillimore,  though  receiving  him  graciously,  reported  her 
mistress  resident  at  home  again,  it  is  true,  but  gone  into 
town  on  business,  probably  theatrical,  and  unlikely  to  re- 
turn until  late.  Therefore  Dominic  had  walked  on  to 
Barnes  Common,  and  finding  the  uncomfortable  bench  by 
the  roadside — whereon  Cappadocia,  the  toy  spaniel,  had 
sought  his  protection  more  than  a  year  ago — untenanted, 
had  sat  down  there  to  meditate.  Cedar  Lodge  was  no  longer 
a  refuge.  He  preferred  to  keep  away  from  it  as  long  as 
might  be.  Perhaps,  too,  as  the  sun  dropped  the  air  would 
grow  cooler,  and  the  southeasterly  draught,  parched  and 
scorching  as  from  the  mouth  of  a  furnace,  which  huffled 
at  times  only  to  fall  dead,  might  shift  to  some  more  merci- 
ful quarter.  A  coppery  haze  hung  over  London,  above 
which  the  rusty  white  summits  of  a  range  of  cumulus  cloud 
towered  into  the  thick  grey-blue  of  the  upper  sky.  Possi- 
bly the  cloud  harboured  thunder  and  the  refreshment  of 
rain  amid  its  giant  crags  and  precipices.  On  the  chance 
of  such  refreshment  he  would  stay. 

For  in  good  truth  he  needed  refreshment,  and  that  speed- 
ily, being  very  tired,  fagged  by  long  hours  in  the  City, 
by  heavy  responsibilities,  by  the  burden  of  the  airless 
August  heat,  let  alone  those  more  intimate  causes  of  dis- 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  309 

turbance  already  indicated.  Iglesias  could  not  disguise 
from  himself  that  the  close  application  to  business  was 
beginning  to  tell  injuriously  upon  his  health.  This  same 
morning,  coming  back  from  early  Mass,  passing  through 
the  flagged  passage  which  leads  from  Kensington  Palace 
Green  into  Church  Street,  he  had  become  so  faint  from 
exhaustion,  that  reaching — and  not  without  difficulty — his 
former  home  in  Holland  Street,  he  had  summoned  the  neat 
bald-headed  little  caretaker  and  asked  permission  to  enter 
the  house  and  rest.  The  ground-floor  rooms  were  cool  and 
dusky,  sheltered  by  closed  shutters  from  the  summer  sun. 
Only  the  French-window  of  the  back  dining-room  stood 
open,  on  to  the  flight  of  wrought-iron  steps  leading  down 
into  the  garden.  Beside  it  the  caretaker,  not  without 
husky  coughings,  placed  a  kitchen  chair  for  Iglesias  and 
fetched  him  a  glass  of  water. 

"  I  could  wish  I  had  something  better  to  offer  you,  sir," 
he  said,  "  but  I  am  an  abstainer  by  habit  myself ;  and  I 
have  no  liquor  of  any  kind,  unfortunately,  in  the  house." 

The  water,  however,  was  pleasantly  cold,  and  Dominic 
drank  it  thankfully.  He  could  have  fancied  there  was 
virtue  in  it — the  virtue  of  things  blessed  by  long-ago 
mother-love.  And,  thinking  of  that,  his  eyes  filled  with 
tears  as  he  looked  out  over  the  small  neglected  garden. 
Of  the  once  glorious  laburnum  there  remained  only  an  un- 
sightly stump,  but  jasmine  still  clothed  the  enclosing 
walls,  the  dark  green  of  its  straggling  shoots  starred  here 
and  there  with  belated  white  blossoms.  About  the  lip  of 
the  empty  stone  basin,  vigorously  chirruping,  sparrows 
came  and  went,  while  in  the  far  corner  a  grove  of  starve- 
ling sunflowers  lifted  their  brown  and  yellow-rayed  faces 
towards  the  light.  Dominic,  resting  gratefully  in  the  cool 
semi-darkness  of  the  empty  room,  until  the  faintness  which 
had  attacked  him  was  passed,  found  the  place  very  gentle, 
jsoothing,  and  sweet.  The  sadder  memories  had  died  out 


310  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

here,  so  he  noted.  Only  gracious  and  tender  ones  re- 
mained. He  wished  he  could  stay  on  indefinitely.  As  the 
years  multiply,  and  the  chequered  story  of  them  lengthens, 
it  is  comforting  to  dwell  in  a  place  where,  once  on  a  time, 
one  had  been  greatly  loved. 

Dominic  turned  to  the  waiting  caretaker,  who  regarded 
him  with  mingled  solicitude,  admiration,  and  deference. 

"  So  the  house  is  still  unlet?  "  he  said. 

"  Yes,  sir,  and  is  likely  to  remain  so,  I  apprehend.  The 
lease,  as  I  understand,  falls  in  a  very  few  years  hence,  and 
the  landlord  is  unwilling  to  make  any  outlay  on  the  house, 
which  will  probably  then  be  pulled  down ;  while  no  tenant, 
I  opine,  would  be  willing  to  rent  a  residence  so  wanting  in 
modern  decoration  and  modern  conveniences.  Weeks 
pass,  sir,  without  any  persons  calling  to  view." 

"  Yet  the  rent  is  low  ?  "  Iglesias  said. 

"  Very  low  for  so  genteel  a  district — I  am  a  native  of 
Kensington,  '  the  royal  village,'  myself,  sir — and  no 
premium  is  asked." 

Now,  sitting  on  the  uneasy  bench  upon  the  confines  of 
Barnes  Common — while  the  little  many-millioned  world, 
which  works,  in  gangs,  and  groups,  and  amatory  couples, 
and  somewhat  foot-weary  family  parties,  sauntered  by — • 
that  same  oppression  of  faintness  came  over  Dominic 
Iglesias,  along  with  a  great  nostalgia  for  the  cool,  dusky, 
low-ceilinged  rooms,  and  the  neglected  yet  still  bravely 
blossoming  garden  of  the  little  house  in  Holland  Street. 

"  It  would  be  pleasant  to  spend  one's  last  days  and  draw 
one's  last  breath  there,"  Iglesias  said  to  himself ;  "  when 
the  sum  of  endeavour  is  complete,  when  the  last  cable  has 
been  sent,  the  last  column  of  figures  balanced  and  audited, 
when  the  ledgers  are  closed  and  one's  work  being  fairly 
finished  one  is  free  to  sit  still  and  listen — not  fearfully,  but 
with  reverent  curiosity — for  the  footsteps  of  Death  and  the 
secrets  he  has  in  his  keeping." 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  311 

y 

And  there  he  paused,  for  the  scorched  dusty  land  and 
pale  dense  sky,  even  the  rusty  white  summits  of  the  great 
range  of  cloud,  slowly,  slowly  climbing  high  heaven — even 
the  light  dresses  of  passing  women  and  children — went  sud- 
denly black,  indistinct,  and  confused  to  his  sight,  so  that  he 
seemed  to  be  falling  through  some  depth  of  dark  and  un- 
tenanted  space,  while  the  dust,  thick,  stifling,  cling- 
ing, fell  with  him,  encircling,  enveloping  him  with  a  horror 
of  suffocation,  of  crushing,  impalpable,  yet  unescapable, 
dead  weight. 

Then  out  of  the  darkness,  out  of  the  dust,  in  voluminous 
dusty  drab  motor  veil  and  dusty  drab  motor  coat,  the  Lady 
of  the  Windswept  Dust  herself  came  towards  him,  bringing 
consolation  and  help. 


CHAPTER    XXXII 

"  You  are  coming  round,  dear  man.  You  really  look 
better.  What  you  wanted  was  a  sensible  Christian  meal. 
For,  I  tell  you,  you  were  most  uncommonly  done,  and  it 
was  a  near  shave  whether  I  should  get  you  home  here  with- 
out having  to  call  on  the  populace  for  assistance.  Don't 
go  and  worry  now.  You  were  superb  as  usual,  with 
enough  personal  dignity  to  supply  a  whole  dynasty,  and 
have  some  left  over  for  washing-day  into  the  bargain.  You 
should  give  lessons  in  the  art  of  majestic  collapse — not 
that  you  did  collapse,  thank  goodness!  But  you  came 
precious  near  it. — Yes,  I  mean  it,  I  mean  it,  dear  man  " — 
Poppy  nodded  her  head  at  him,  leaned  across  the  corner  of 
the  table  and  patted  his  arm  with  the  utmost  friendliness. 
"  I  want  to  terrify  you  into  being  more  careful.  There 
are  plenty  of  people  one  could  jolly  well  spare ;  but  you're 
not  among  them.  So  lay  that  to  heart,  or  I  shan't  have  an 
easy  moment.  And  then  as  to  personal  dignity,  if  you  will 
excuse  my  entering  into  details  of  costume,  in  that  grey 
top-hat,  grey  frock-coat,  et  cetera,  et  cetera,  you  looked 
more  fit  for  the  Ascot  Royal  Enclosure  than  for  Barnes 
Common  on  a  broiling  August  Sunday.  The  populace 
eyed  you  with  awe. — Don't  be  offended,  there's  a  dear. 
You  can't  help  being  very  smart  and  very  beautiful;  and 
you  oughtn't  to  want  to  help  it  even  if  you  could,  since  it 
gives  me  so  much  pleasure.  Your  tailor's  a  gem.  But 
how  he  must  love  you,  must  be  ready  to  dress  you  free  of 
cost  for  the  simple  joy  of  fitting  on." 

The  little  dinner  had  been  excellent.  The  clear  soup 
hot,  and  the  ninety-two  Ayala,  extra  dry,  chilled  to  a 
nicety — and  so  with  the  rest  of  the  menu.  Glass,  silver, 

312 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  313 

y 

china,  were  set  forth  daintily  upon  the  fine  white  damask, 
under  the  glow  of  scarlet-shaded  candles.  The  double 
doors  connecting  the  small  drawing-room  and  dining- 
room  stood  open ;  this,  combined  with  the  fact  that  lights 
were  limited  to  the  dinner-table,  giving  an  agreeable  effect 
of  coolness  and  of  space.  While,  as  arrayed  in  a  crisp 
black  muslin  gown — the  frills  and  panels  of  it  painted  with 
shaded  crimson  roses  and  bronze-green  leaves — Poppy  St. 
John  ministered  to  her  guest,  chattered  to,  and  rallied  him, 
her  eyes  were  extraordinarily  dark  and  luminous,  and  her 
voice  rich  in  soft  caressing  tones.  Never  had  she  appeared 
more  engaging,  more  natural  and  human,  never  stronger 
yet  more  tenderly  gay.  Dominic  Iglesias  yielded  himself 
up  gladly,  gratefully,  to  the  charm  of  the  woman  and  to 
the  comfort  of  his  surroundings.  Temperate  in  all  things, 
he  was  temperate  in  enjoyment.  Yet  he  was  touched,  he 
was  happy.  Life  was  very  sweet  to  him  in  this  hour  of 
relief  from  physical  distress,  of  renewed  friendship,  and 
of  pretty  material  circumstance. 

"  It  was  such  a  mercy  I  had  a  decent  meal  to  offer  you," 
Poppy  went  on.  "  Often  the  commissariat  department  is 
a  bit  sketchy  on  Sunday,  in — well,  in  these  days  of  the 
cleaned  slate.  But  you  see,  Lionel  Gordon,  of  the 
Twentieth  Century  Theatre,  was  to  tell  me,  this  afternoon, 
what  decision  he  had  come  to  about  the  engagement  I  have 
been  spelling  to  get.  He  is  an  appalling  mongrel,  three- 
parts  German  Jew  and  one  part  Scotchman — sweet  mix- 
ture of  the  Chosen  and  Self-Chosen  people !  He  never  was 
pretty,  and  increasing  years  have  not  rendered  his  appear- 
ance more  enticing ;  but  he's  the  cleverest  manager  going, 
on, either  side  of  the  Atlantic,  and  he  doesn't  go  back  on  his 
word  once  given,  as  too  many  of  them  do.  Well,  he  was 
to  let  me  know ;  and  to  tell  the  truth,  beloved  lunatic,  I  was 
rather  keen  about  this  engagement.  I  knew  if  he  did  not 
give  it  me  I  should  be  a  little  hipped,  and  should  stand  in 


314  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

need  of  support  and  consolation ;  while,  if  he  did,  I  should 
be  rather  expansive,  and  should  want  suitably  to  celebrate 
the  event.  So  I  ordered  a  good  dinner  to  be  ready  in  either 
case  " — Poppy  laughed  gently.  "  Queer  thing  the  artist," 
she  said,  "  with  its  instinct  of  falling  back  on  creature 
comforts.  Whatever  happens,  good  luck  or  bad  luck,  it 
always  eats." 

"  And  they  gave  you  the  engagement? "  Iglesias  in- 
quired. 

Poppy  nodded  her  head  in  assent. 

"  Yes,  dear  man,  Lionel  gave  it  me.  He'd  have  been  a 
fool  if  he  hadn't,  for  he  knows  who  I  am  and  what  training 
Pve  had.  And  then  Fallowfeild  has  made  things  easy. 
He's  a  thundering  good  friend,  Fallowfeild  is ;  and  in  view 
of  late  events — once  I  had  told  him  to  go,  I  wouldn't,  of 
course,  take  a  penny  of  Alaric's — I  had  no  conscience  about 
letting  Fallowfeild  be  useful.  He  was  lovely  about  it.  I 
shall  only  draw  a  nominal  salary  for  the  first  six  months  un- 
til I  have  proved  myself.  What  I  want  is  my  opportunity ; 
and  money  matters  being  made  easy  helped  materially. 
Both  the  Chosen  and  Self-Chosen  People  have  a  wonder- 
fully keen  eye  to  the  boodle,  bless  their  little  hearts  and 
consciences !  " 

She  paused,  leaning  her  elbows  on  the  table  and  looking 
sideways  at  Iglesias,  her  head  thrown  back. 

"  I  am  dreadfully  glad  to  have  you  here  to-night,"  she 
went  on,  "  because  you  see  it's  a  turning-point.  I  have 
pretty  well  climbed  the  ridge  and  reached  the  watershed. 
The  streams  have  all  started  running  in  the  other  direction 
— towards  the  dear  old  work  and  worry,  the  envy,  hatred, 
malice,  and  all  uncharitableness,  and  all  the  fun,  too,  and 
good  comradeship,  and  ambition,  and  joy,  of  the  theatre. 
Can  you  understand,  I  at  once  adore  and  detest  it,  for  it's 
a  terribly  mixed  business.  Already  I  keep  on  seeing  the 
rows  of  pinky-white  faces  rising,  tier  above  tier,  up  to  the 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  315 

y 

roof,  which  turn  you  sick  and  give  you  cold  shivers  all  down 
your  spine  when  you  first  come  on.  And  then  I  go  hot 
with  the  fight  against  their  apathy  or  opposition,  the 
glorious  fight  to  conquer  and  hold  an  audience,  and  bend  its 
emotions  and  its  sympathies,  as  the  wind  bends  the  meadow 
grass,  to  one's  will." 

Poppy  stretched  out  her  hand  across  the  corner  of  the 
table  again,  laying  it  upon  Iglesias'  hand.  Her  eyes 
danced  with  excitement,  yet  her  voice  shook  and  the  words 
came  brokenly. 

"  But,  dearly  beloved,  I  have  your  blessing  on  this  new 
departure,  haven't  I?"  she  asked.  "After  all,  it's  you, 
just  simply  you,  that  sends  me  back  to  an  honest  life  and 
to  my  profession.  So  I  should  like  to  have  your  blessing 
— that,  and  your  prayers." 

"  Can  you  doubt  that  you  have  them,"  Iglesias  answered, 
and  his  voice,  too,  shook,  somewhat,  "  now  and  always, 
dearest  of  friends  ?  " 

For  a  little  minute  Poppy  sat  looking  full  at  him,  he 
looking  full  at  her.  Then,  with  a  sort  of  rush,  she  rose  to 
her  feet. 

"  Come  along,  this  won't  do,"  she  said.  "  Sentiment 
strictly  prohibited.  It's  not  wholesome  for  you  after  the 
nasty  turn  you  had  on  Barnes  Common — and  it's  not  par- 
ticularly wholesome  for  me  either,  though  for  quite  other 
reasons.  Moreover,  it's  fiendishly  hot  in  here.  So  see,  dear 
man,  you're  not  going  just  yet.  I  telephoned  to  the  Bell 
Inn  stables  for  a  private  hansom  to  be  on  hand  about  ten- 
thirty  for  you.  Meanwhile,  you're  to  take  it  easy  and 
rest.  It  is  but  five  steps  upstairs,  and  that  won't  tire  you. 
Come  up  into  the  cool  and  have  your  coffee  on  the  balcony." 

And  so  it  came  about  that  Dominic  Iglesias  followed 
Poppy  St.  John  upstairs — she  moving  rapidly,  in  a  way 
defiantly — followed  her  into  a  bedchamber,  where  a  subtle 
sweetness  of  orris-root  met  him ;  and  a  fantastic  brightness 


316  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

of  gaslight  and  moonlight,  coming  in  through  open  win- 
dows, chequered  the  handsome  dark-polished  brass-inlaid 
furniture,  the  green  silk  coverlet  and  hangings,  the  dimly 
patterned  ceiling  and  walls.  Without  hesitation  or 
apology,  Poppy  walked  straight  through  this  apartment, 
and  passed  out  on  to  the  white-planked  and  white-railed 
balcony. 

The  dome  of  the  sky  was  immense  and  had  become  per- 
fectly clear,  the  great  clouds  having  boiled  up  during  the 
afternoon  only  to  sink  away  and  vanish  at  sunset,  as  is 
their  wont  in  seasons  of  drought.  North  and  east  the 
glare  of  London  pulsed  along  the  horizon ;  and  above  it  the 
stars  were  faint,  since  the  radiant  first-quarter  moon  rode 
high,  drenching  roadway  and  palings,  the  stretch  of  the 
polo-ground,  the  shrubberies  and  grove  of  giant  elms,  with 
white  light  blotted  and  barred,  here  and  there,  by  black 
shadow.  The  air  was  still,  but  less  oppressive,  the  cruelty 
of  sun-heat  having  gone  out  of  it  and  only  a  suavity  re- 
maining. The  facade  of  the  terrace  of  smirking,  self- 
conscious,  much-be-flowered  and  be-balconied  little  houses 
had  taken  on  a  certain  worth  of  picturesqueness,  suggestive 
of  the  bazaar  of  some  far-away  Oriental  city  rather  than 
of  a  vulgar  London  suburb,  the  summer  night  even  here 
producing  an  exquisiteness  of  effect  and  making  itself  very 
sensibly  felt.  Poppy  silently  motioned  her  guest  to  the 
further  of  the  two  cane  deck-chairs  set  in  the  recess,  ar- 
ranged a  cushion  at  his  back,  drew  up  a  little  mother-of- 
pearl  inlaid  table  beside  him,  poured  coffee  into  two  cups. 
Then  she  moved  across  to  the  rail  of  the  balcony,  and  stood 
there,  her  head  thrown  back,  her  hands  clasped  behind  her, 
facing  the  moonlight,  which  covered  her  slender  rounded 
figure  from  head  to  foot  as  with  a  pale  transparent  veil  of 
infinite  tenuity.  Iglesias  could  see  the  rise  and  fall  of  her 
bosom,  the  flutter  of  her  eyelids,  the  involuntary  movement 
of  her  lips  as  she  pressed  them  together,  restraining,  as 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  317 

'0 

might  be  divined,  words  to  which  she  judged  it  wiser  to 
deny  utterance. 

And  this  hardly  repressed  excitement  in  Poppy's  bear- 
ing and  aspect,  along  with  the  peculiar  scene  and  circum- 
stances in  which  he  found  himself,  worked  profoundly  upon 
Dominic  Iglesias.  In  passing  through  that  scented,  half- 
discovered,  fantastically  lighted  bedchamber  and  stepping 
out  into  the  magic  of  the  night,  he  had  stepped  out,  in 
imagination,  into  regions  dreamed  of  in  earlier  years — 
when  reading  poetry  or  hearing  music, — but  never  fairly 
entered,  still  less  enjoyed,  since  all  the  duties  and  obliga- 
tions of  his  daily  life  militated  against  and  even  forbade 
such  enjoyment.  The  weariness  of  his  work  in  the  City, 
the  petty  annoyances  he  suffered  at  Cedar  Lodge,  the 
haunting  disgust  of  de  Courcy  Smyth's  presence,  fell  away 
from  him,  becoming  for  the  time  as  though  they  were  not. 
He  never  had  been,  nor  was  he  now,  in  any  degree  self-in- 
dulgent or  a  sentimentalist.  The  appeal  of  the  present 
somewhat  enchanted  hour  was  to  the  intellect  and  the  spirit, 
rather  than  sensuous,  still  less  sensual.  Nevertheless,  an 
almost  passionate  desire  of  earthly  beauty  took  him — of 
the  beauty  of  things  seen,  of  things  plastic,  beauty  of  the 
human  form;  beauty  of  far-distant  lands  and  the  varied 
pageant  of  their  aspect  and  history;  of  great  rivers  flow- 
ing seaward;  of  tombs  by  the  wayside;  of  the  glorious 
terror  of  the  desert's  naked  face ;  of  languorous  fountain- 
cooled  gardens,  close  hid  in  the  burning  heart  of  ancient 
cities  ;  beauty  of  sound,  beauty  of  words  and  phrases,  above 
all,  of  the  eternal  beauty  of  youth  and  the  illimitable  ex- 
pectation and  hope  of  it. 

And  it  was  out  of  all  this,  out  of  the  mirage  of  these 
vast  elusive  prospects  and  apprehensions,  that  he  answered 
Poppy  St.  John,  as  with  serious  eyes  yet  smiling  lips  she 
turned,  and  coming  across  the  white  floor  sat  down  beside 
him,  saying: 


318  THE    FAR    HORIZON 

"How  goes  It,  Dominic?     Are  you  rested?" 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  "  I  am  rested.  And  more  than 
that,  I  am  alive  and  awake,  strangely  awake  and  full  of 
vision — thanks  to  you." 

Poppy's  expression  sweetened,  becoming  protective, 
maternal.  She  leaned  back  in  her  chair  and  folded  her 
hands  in  her  lap ;  yet  there  was  still  a  certain  tension  in  her 
expression,  an  intensity  as  of  inward  excitement  in  her  gaze. 

"  Tell  me  things,  then,"  she  said,  "  tell  me  things  about 
yourself,  if  the  gift  of  seeing  is  upon  you. — There's  no 
one  to  overhear.  The  neighbours  on  both  sides  are  away 
for  the  holidays,  thank  the  powers !  and  their  houses  stand 
empty.  While  the  voices  and  footsteps  down  in  the  road 
only  make  us  more  happily  alone.  So  tell  me  things,  Do- 
minic. I  am  a  trifle  stirred  up  with  all  this  affair  of  the 
theatre,  and  you  always  quiet  me.  I'm  really  a  very  good 
child.  I  deserve  a  treat.  And  there  are  things  I  dread- 
fully want  to  know." 

"  Alas !  there  is  so  absurdly  little  to  tell,"  Iglesias 
answered,  "  that,  here  and  now,  in  face  of  my  existing  sense 
of  life  and  of  vision,  I  am  humbled  by  my  own  ignorance 
and  poverty  of  achievement.  That  poverty,  I  suppose,  is 
all  the  more  apparent  to  me,  because  twice  to-day  I  have 
been — so  I  judge,  at  least — within  measurable  distance  of 
bidding  farewell  to  this  astonishingly  wonderful  world  and 
the  fashion  of  it.  It  comes  home  to  me  how  little  I  have 
seen,  how  little  I  have  profited,  how  little  I  know.  I  would 
have  liked  to  leave  it ;  it  would  be  more  seemly  to  do  so,  hav- 
ing profited  more  largely  by  my  sojourn  here." 

Iglesias  paused,  excitement  which  his  natural  sobriety 
disapproved  gaining  him,  too,  through  that  ache  of  unreal- 
ised beauty.  For  a  moment  he  struggled  with  it  as  with  a 
rising  tide,  then  resigned  himself. 

"  And  yet,"  he  added,  "  in  other  respects  I  should  not  be 
sorry  to  hear  the  hour  strike,  for  curiosity  of  the  unknown 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  319 

JP 
is  very  strong  in  me.     Opportunity  may  have  been  narrow, 

and  one  may  have  been  balked  of  high  endeavour  and  rich 
experience,  by  lack  of  talent  and  by  adverse  circumstances ; 
but  in  the  supreme,  the  crowning  experience,  that  of  death 
and  all  which,  for  joy  or  sorrow,  lies  beyond  it,  even  the 
most  obscure,  the  most  uncultured  and  untravelled  must 
participate." 

"  Don't  be  in  too  great  a  deuce  of  a  hurry  to  satisfy  that 
curiosity,  dear  man,"  Poppy  put  in.  "  You  must  contrive 
to  exercise  patience  for  a  little  while  yet,  please ;  always  re- 
membering that  it  is  entirely  superfluous  to  run  to  catch  a 
train  which  is  bound  not  to  start  until  you  are  on  board  of 
it.  And  then,  too,  you  see — well,  there's  me,  after  all,  and 
I  want  you." 

Iglesias'  face  grew  keen,  as  he  looked  at  her  through 
that  encompassing  whiteness  of  moonlight. 

"  I  am  glad  of  that,"  he  said  very  quietly,  "  because  you 
are  to  me,  dear  friend,  what  no  other  human  being  has  ever 
yet  been.  The  saddest  thing  that  could  happen  to  me, 
save  loss  of  faith,  would  be  that  you  should  cease  to  want 
me.  I  only  pray  God,  if  it  is  not  self-seeking,  that  you 
may  continue  to  want  me  as  long  as  I  live." 

"But  your  religion?"  she  asked,  a  point  of  jealousy 
pricking  her. 

"  My  religion  forbids  sin,  whether  of  body  or  mind ;  for- 
bids violation  of  the  eternal  spiritual  proportion,  by  any 
placing  of  the  creature  before  the  Creator  in  a  man's  ac- 
tion or  in  his  heart.  But  my  religion  enjoins  love  and 
stimulates  it;  since  only  through  loving  can  we  fulfil  the 
highest  possibility  of  our  nature,  which  is  to  grow  into  the 
likeness  of  Almighty  God." 

"You  believe  that?"  Poppy  asked  again. 

"  I  do  more,"  Iglesias  said.     "  I  know  it." 

Then  both  fell  silent,  having  reached  the  place  where 
words  hinder  rather  than  help  thought.  And,  as  it  hap- 


320  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

pened,  just  then  the  stillness  was  sensibly  broken  up,  and 
the  magic  of  the  night  encroached  upon  by  the  passing  of  a 
couple  of  char-a-bancs  in  the  road  below,  loaded  up  with 
trippers  faring  homewards  from  a  day's  outing  at  Hampton 
Court.  The  tired  teams  jog-trotted  haltingly.  The 
wheels  whispered  hoarsely  in  the  muffling  dust;  and  voices 
mingled  somewhat  plaintively  in  the  singing  of  a  then  popu- 
lar khaki  sing — "  The  Soldiers  of  the  Queen."  Hearing 
all  of  which,  as  the  refrain  died  away  Londonwards  up  the 
great  suburban  road,  the  compelling  drama  and  pathos  of 
life  as  the  multitude  lives  it — stupidly,  without  ideas,  with- 
out any  conscious  nobility  of  purpose,  yet  with  a  certain 
blundering  and  clumsy  heroism — took  Poppy  St.  John  by 
the  throat.  Those  who  stand  aside  from  that  democratic 
everyday  drama,  rejecting  alike  the  common  joys  and  com- 
mon sorrows  of  it,  have  need — so  it  seemed  to  her — to  ac- 
count for  and  justify  themselves  lest  they  become  suspect. 
Therefore  she  looked  at  Dominic  Iglesias  intently,  question- 
ingly,  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  spoke. 

"  Still  I  don't  understand  you,  in  your  determined  de- 
tachment of  attitude.  Tell  me,  if  you  are  not  afraid  of 
love,  why  have  you  never  married  ?  "  she  said. 

And  he,  divining  to  an  extent  that  which  inspired  her 
question,  smiled  at  her  somewhat  proudly  as  he  answered. 

"  Be  under  no  misapprehension,  dear  friend.  I  am  a 
perfectly  normal  piece  of  flesh  and  blood,  with  a  man's 
normal  passions,  and  his  natural  craving  for  wife,  and 
child,  home,  family,  and  the  like.  But  during  my  mother's 
lifetime  I  was  bound  to  other  service  than  that  of  mar- 
riage." 

"  But  in  these  years  since  her  death?  "  Poppy  asked. 

"  There  is  a  time  for  everything,  as  the  Preacher  testi- 
fies, a  due  and  proper  time  which  must  be  observed  if  life  is 
to  be  a  reasoned  progress,  not  a  mere  haphazard  stumbling 
from  the  weakness  of  childhood  to  the  incapacity  of  old 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  321 

jf 

age.  And,  can  anything  be  more  objectionably  at  vari- 
ance with  that  wise  teaching  than  the  spectacle  of  amorous 
uxorious  efflorescence  in  a  man  of  well  over  fifty  ?  " 

Poppy  permitted  herself  a  lively  grimace. 

"  All  the  same  you  have  sacrificed  yourself,  as  usual," 
she  said. 

"  Not  so  very  greatly,  perhaps,"  Iglesias  replied,  with  a 
soberly  humorous  expression.  "  For  I  have  always  been 
very  exacting  and  have  asked  very  much.  I  am  culpably 
fastidious.  My  tastes  are  far  beyond  my  means,  my 
desires  out  of  all  reasonable  relation  to  my  station  and  my 
merits.  And  it  should  be  remembered  that  my  circle  of 
acquaintances  has  been  a  very  limited  one,  until  quite  re- 
cently— I  do  not  wish  to  appear  more  glaringly  arrogant 
or  discourteous  than  I  actually  am.  I  had  my  ideal.  It 
happened  that  I  failed  to  realise  it ;  and  I  am  very  impa- 
tient of  compromise  in  matters  of  intimate  and  purely 
personal  import.  In  respect  of  them  I  hold  I  have  an  un- 
qualified right  to  consult  my  own  tastes.  It  has  always 
been  easier  to  me  to  go  without  than  to  accept  a  second- 
best." 

"  In  point  of  fact  no  woman  was  good  enough !  Poor 
brutes ! " 

Poppy  mused  a  little,  with  averted  face. 

"  How  beastly  cheap  they'd  all  feel — I've  not  forgotten 
the  undulating  and  aspiring  withered  leaf — if  they  knew 
how  mightily  they  all  fell  short!"  she  added  naughtily. 
Suddenly  she  looked  round  at  Dominic  Iglesias.  Her 
eyes  were  as  stars,  but  her  lips  trembled.  "  Bless  me,  but 
you've  extensively  original  methods  of  conveying  informa- 
tion! It's  lucky  for  me  I've  a  steady  head.  So — so  it 
comes  to  this — I  reign  all  alone?  "  she  said. 

"  Yes,  dear  friend,  save  for  my  love  for  my  mother- 
such  as  the  throne  is  or  ever  has  been — you  reign  alone," 
Iglesias  answered  quietly. 


THE     FAR     HORIZON 

Poppy  rested  her  elbows  upon  her  knees,  dropped  her 
face  into  her  hands,  and  sat  thus  bowed  together  in  the 
whiteness  of  the  moonlight. 

"  Ah,  dear !  "  she  murmured  presently,  brokenly,  "  I've 
got  my  answer.  It's  better  and — worse,  than  I  expected. 
All  the  same  I'm  content — that's  to  say,  the  best  of  me  is — 
royally,  consummately  content. — Thank  you  a  thousand 
times,  thrice-beloved  and  very  most  exceedingly  unworldly- 
wise  one,"  she  said. 

Then  for  a  while  both  were  silent,  wrapped  about  by, 
and  resting  in,  the  magic  of  the  summer  night.  When 
Poppy  roused  herself  at  last  to  speak,  it  was  in  a  different 
key,  studiously  matter-of-fact. 

"  Look  here,  dear  man,  do  you  in  the  least  realise  how 
extremely  far  gone  you  were  when  I  arrived  to  you  on 
Barnes  Common  this  evening?  Because  I  tell  you  plainly 
I  didn't  in  the  very  least  like  it.  In  my  opinion  it  is  high 
time  you  gave  up  dragging  that  Barking  Brothers  &  Bark- 
ing cart." 

"  I  shall  give  up  doing  so  very  soon,"  Iglesias  replied. 
"  Just  now  I  am  acting  as  manager.  Sir  Abel  is  at 
Marienbad,  and  the  other  partners  are  out  of  town." 

"  I  like  that — lazy  animals !  "  Poppy  said. 

"  But  the  situation  is  in  process  of  righting  itself — has 
practically  righted  itself  already." 

"  Thanks  to  you." 

"  In  part,  no  doubt.  There  was  a  disposition  to  panic, 
which  rendered  it  exceedingly  difficult  to  get  accurate  and 
definite  information  at  first.  However,  I  arrived  at  the 
necessary  data  with  patience  and  diplomacy,  and  was  able 
to  draw  out  a  clear  detailed  statement.  This  proved  so 
far  satisfactory  that  Messrs.  Goomme,  Hills,  Murray  & 
Co.  and  Pavitt's  Bank  have  considered  themselves  justified 
in  undertaking  to  finance  Barking  Brothers  until  business 
in  South  Africa  has  resumed  its  ordinary  course." 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  323 

y 

"Then  the  elderly  plungers  are  saved?" 

"  Yes,  I  believe,  practically  they  are  saved,"  Iglesias 
said.  "  And,  therefore,  as  soon  as  Sir  Abel  has  finished 
his  cure  and  returns  I  shall  retire." 

Poppy  rose,  clapping  her  hands  together  with  irritation. 

"  Sir  Abel's  cure  be  hanged !  "  she  cried.  "  What  do  I 
care  about  his  idiotic  old  liver  or  his  gout,  or  anything  else  ? 
Let  him  pay  the  price  of  steadily  over-eating  himself  for 
more  than  half  a  century.  I've  no  use  for  him.  What  I 
have  a  use  for  is  you,  dear  man ;  more  than  ever  now,  don't 
you  see,"  her  voice  softened,  became  caressing,  "  after  our 
recent  little  explanation.  And  you  shan't  kill  yourself. 
I  won't  have  it.  I  won't  allow  it.  Therefore  be  reason- 
able, my  good  dear.  Put  away  your  mania  of  self-immola- 
tion— or  keep  it  exclusively  for  my  benefit.  Write  and 
tell  the  Barking  man  to  hurry  up  with  his  liver  and  his  gout. 
Tell  him  you're  being  sweated  to  death  dragging  his  rotten 
old  banking  cart,  and  that  he's  just  got  to  come  home  and 
set  you  free,  and  get  between  the  shafts  and  do  the  drag- 
ging and  sweating  himself. — Ah,  there's  the  hansom.  You 
must  go.  I'd  no  notion  it  was  so  late." 

And  so  it  came  about  that,  once  more,  Dominic  Iglesias 
followed  the  Lady  of  the  Windswept  Dust  into  the  faintly 
scented  bedchamber,  where  fantastic  brightness  of  gaslight 
and  moonlight  chequered  the  polished  surfaces  of  the 
dark  furniture,  the  green  silk  coverlet  and  hangings,  the 
dimly-patterned  ceiling  and  walls.  His  instinct  was  to 
pass  on,  as  quickly  as  might  be,  to  the  secure  commonplace 
of  the  landing  without.  But  half-way  across  the  room,  at 
the  foot  of  the  low-pillared  and  brass-inlaid  bedstead, 
Poppy  St.  John  stopped,  and  turned  swiftly,  barring  his 
passage  with  extended  arms. 

"  Stay  a  minute,  for  probably  we  shall  never  meet  in  this 
poor  little  house  again,  best  beloved  one,"  she  said.  "  It 
is  too  far  out.  I  must  move  into  town.  Lionel  puts  the 


324.  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

play  into  rehearsal  next  week,  and  I  must  live  near  the 
theatre.  And  then,  too — well,  you  know,  since  I've  made 
up  my  mind,  it's  best  to  clean  the  slate  even  in  respect  of 
one's  dwelling-place.  Memories  stick,  stick  like  a  leech; 
and  they  raise  emotions  of  a  slightly  disturbing  character 
sometimes.  I  am  sure  of  myself ;  and  yet  I  know  it's  safest 
to  make  a  clean  sweep  of  whatever  reminds  me  of  all  the 
forbidden  dear  damned  lot.  I  regret  nothing — don't 
imagine  that.  I'm  keen  on  my  work.  The  artist,  after 
all,  is  the  strongest  thing  in  me.  I'm  quite  happy,  now  I 
have  made  up  my  mind.  My  nose  is  in  the  air.  I  can  look 
creation  in  the  face  without  winking  an  eyelid.  I  can 
respect  myself.  And  I'm  tremendously  grateful  to  Lionel 
Gordon  for  taking  me  on  spec,  and  to  Fallowf eild  for  greas- 
ing the  creature's  Caledonian-Teutonic-Hebraic  palm  for 
me.  Still — still — you  can  imagine,  can't  you,  that,  take  it 
all  round,  it's  not  precisely  a  Young  Women's  Christian 
Association  blooming  picnic  party  for  me  just  at  present?  " 

Poppy  dashed  her  hand  across  her  eyes,  half  laughing, 
half  sobbing. 

"  Ah,  love  me,  Dominic,  love  me,  in  your  own  way,  the 
clean  way — that's  all  I  ask,  all  that  I  want — only  love  me 
always,"  she  said. 

She  laid  her  hands  on  Iglesias'  shoulders  and  threw  back 
her  head.  And  he,  holding  her,  bending  down  kissed  her 
white  face,  soft  heavy  hair,  over-red  lips,  her  tragic  and 
unfathomable  eyes — which  looking  on  the  evil  and  measur- 
ing the  very  actual  immediate  delights  of  it,  still  had 
courage,  in  the  end,  to  reject  it  and  choose  the  good — 
kissed  them  reverently,  gravely,  proudly,  with  the  chastity 
and  chivalry  of  perfect  friendship. 

"  Ah !  that's  better.  I'm  better.  Bless  you ;  don't  be 
afraid.  I'll  play  fair  to  the  finish — only  keep  well.  Quit 
that  rotten  old  bank. — Now  go,  dear  man,  go,"  Poppy 
said. 


CHAPTER    XXXIII 

DURING  the  past  six  weeks  events  had  galloped.  To 
Iglesias  it  appeared  that  changes  were  in  course  of  arriv- 
ing in  battalions.  He  neither  hailed  nor  deplored  them, 
but  met  them  with  a  stoical  patience.  To  realise  them 
clearly,  in  all  their  bearings,  would  have  been  to  add  to 
the  sense  of  fatigue  from  which  he  too  constantly  suf- 
fered. More  than  sufficient  to  each  day  was  the  labour 
thereof.  So  he  looked  beyond,  to  the  greater  repose  and 
freedom  which,  as  he  trusted,  lay  ahead. 

Upon  the  morning  immediately  in  question  he  had  closed 
his  work  at  the  bank.  Sir  Abel's  demeanour  had  been 
characteristic.  His  clothes,  it  is  true,  still  hung  loosely 
upon  him.  His  library  chair  and  extensive  writing-table 
appeared  a  world  too  big.  For  he  was  shrunken  and  had 
become  an  old  man.  Yet,  though  signs  of  chastening  thus 
outwardly  declared  themselves,  in  spirit  he  had  regained 
tone  and  returned  to  his  former  high  estate.  Along  with 
the  revival  of  financial  security  had  come  a  revival  of 
pomposity,  an  addiction  to  patronage  in  manner  and  plati- 
tudes in  speech.  He  had  ceased  to  be  humble  and  human, 
self-righteous  self-complacency  again  loudly  announcing 
itself. 

"  So  you  propose  to  retire,  you  ask  to  be  relieved  of 
your  duties,  my  good  friend?  "  he  asked  of  Iglesias,  who 
had  requested  the  favour  of  an  interview  in  his  private 
room.  "Let  us,  then,  congratulate  ourselves  upon  the 
fact  that  I  have  returned  from  my  sojourn  upon  the  con- 
tinent with  so  far  renovated  health  that  I  feel  equal  to 
meeting  the  arduous  responsibilities  of  my  position  un- 
aided ;  and  am  not,  consequently,  compelled,  out  of  a  sense 

325 


326  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

of  duty  either  to  myself  or  to  my  colleagues,  to  offer  any 
objection  to  your  retirement.  Before  we  part  I  should, 
however,  wish  to  place  it  clearly  on  record  that  my  con- 
fidence, both  in  the  soundness  of  my  own  judgment  and  in 
our  capacity,  as  capitalists,  to  meet  any  strain  put  upon 
our  resources,  was  not  misplaced.  This  no  one  can,  I 
think,  fail  to  admit.  Our  house  emerges  from  this  period 
of  trial  with  the  hall-mark  of  public  sympathy  and  esteem 
upon  it.  And,  in  this  connection,  it  is  instructive  to  note 
the  working  of  the  law  of  compensation.  This  war,  for 
example,  which  to  the  ordinary  mind  might  have  appeared 
an  unmixed  evil,  since  it  threatened  to  jeopardise  our 
position  among  the  leading  financiers  of  the  capital  of  the 
civilised  world,  has,  in  the  event,  served,  not  only  to  con- 
solidate our  position,  but  to  unmask  the  practices  of  that 
unscrupulous  and  self-seeking  member  of  our  firm,  my  un- 
happy nephew  Reginald,  and  afford  us  legitimate  excuse 
for  his  removal.  We  appeared  to  touch  on  disaster;  but, 
by  that  very  means,  we  have  been  enabled  to  rid  ourselves 
of  a  canker.  Still  this  must  remain  a  painful  subject." 

Sir  Abel  became  pensive,  fixing  his  gaze,  the  while,  upon 
the  portrait  adorning  the  wall  over  against  him.  To  an 
acute  observer  the  said  portrait  had  always  been  subtly 
ironical.  Now  it  had  become  coarsely  so — a  merciless 
caricature  of  the  shrivelled  old  gentleman  whom  it  repre- 
sented, and  to  whom  it  bore  much  the  same  resemblance  as 
a  balloon  soaring  skywards,  fully  inflated,  bears  to  that 
same  object  with  half  the  gas  let  out  of  it  in  a  condition  of 
flabby  and  wobbling  semi-collapse. 

"A  painful  subject,"  he  repeated  nobly — "I  refrain 
from  enlarging  upon  it,  and  pass  to  other  matters.  As  to 
the  part  you  yourself  have  borne  in  the  history  of  our 
recent  anxieties,  Iglesias,  I  feel  I  cannot  do  less  than  tender 
you  the  thanks  of  myself  and  my  co-partners.  I  do  not 
disguise  from  you  that  a  tendency  existed  to  criticise  my 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  327 

* 

action  in  summoning  you,  to  dub  your  business  methods 
antiquated,  and  question  your  ability  to  march  with  the 
time's.  But  these  objections  proved,  I  am  happy  to  think, 
unfounded.  The  faith  I  reposed  in  you  has  been  justified. 
And  I  may  tell  you,  in  confidence,  that,  should  the  occasion 
for  doing  so  arise,  my  colleagues  will  in  future  have  as 
little  hesitation  in  calling  upon  your  services  as  I  should 
have  myself." 

The  speaker  paused,  as  for  applause.  And  Dominic, 
who  had  remained  standing  during  this  prolonged  oration 
— no  suggestion  having  been  made  on  the  present  occasion 
that  he  should  be  seated — proceeded  to  acknowledge  the 
peculiar  compliment  just  paid  him,  with  somewhat  sardonic 
courtesy. 

"  Your  words  are  extremely  reassuring,  Sir  Abel,"  he 
remarked  calmly. 

The  gentleman  addressed  regarded  him  sharply  for  a 
moment,  as  though  doubtful  of  the  exact  purport  of  his 
words.  Then,  suspicion  of  covert  sarcasm  being  clearly 
inadmissible,  Sir  Abel  spoke  again  in  his  largest  platform 
manner,  although  the  tones  of  his  voice,  like  his  person, 
were  shrunken,  docked  of  the  fulness  of  their  former 
rotundity  and  unction. 

"  It  has  ever  been  my  effort  to  reward  merit  by  en- 
couragement," he  replied.  "  And,  were  testimony  to  the 
wisdom  of  my  practice,  in  this  particular,  needed,  I  should 
point,  I  candidly  tell  you,  my  good  friend,  to  the  excellent 
results  of  my  recent  demand  upon  your  cooperation  and 
support."  He  leaned  sideways  in  his  chair,  assuming  the 
posture  of  the  portrait,  conscious  of  having  really  said  a 
very  handsome  thing  indeed  to  his  ex-head-clerk.  "  For," 
he  added,  "  I  sincerely  believe  in  the  worth  of  example.  It 
is  hardly  too  much  to  assert  that  a  generous  and  high- 
minded  employer  eventually  stamps  the  employed  with  a 
reflection,  at  least,  of  his  own  superior  qualities." 


328  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

Again  he  paused.  But  truth  to  tell,  Dominic  Iglesias 
had  not  only  grown  very  weary  of  discourse  and  dis- 
courser,  but  somewhat  impatient  also.  He  had  hoped 
better  things  of  the  man  after  the  nasty  shaking  fortune 
had  recently  given  him.  Consequently  he  was  disap- 
pointed; for  it  was  very  effectually  borne  in  upon  him 
that  only  absence  of  feathers  makes  for  grace  in  a  goose. 
Once  the  nudity  of  the  foolish  bird  covered,  it  hisses,  and 
that  loudly,  to  the  old  tune.  Hence,  in  the  interests  of 
Christian  charity,  he  agreed  with  himself  to  cut  short  the 
interview,  lest  anger  should  get  the  better  of  toleration. 

"  I  think  we  have  now  discussed  all  questions  calling  for 
your  personal  attention,  Sir  Abel,"  he  said,  "  and  all  docu- 
ments and  correspondence  relating  to  affairs  during  your 
absence  have  been  placed  in  your  hands.  If  therefore  you 
have  nothing  further  to  ask  me,  I  need  not  encroach  any 
longer  upon  your  valuable  time." 

With  that,  after  a  brief  pause,  he  moved  towards  the 
door ;  but  the  other  man,  half  rising  from  his  chair,  called 
after  him. 

"  Iglesias,  your  attention  for  one  moment — that  matter 
of  a  salary?  " 

"  I  supposed  I  had  made  my  terms  perfectly  clear,  Sir 
Abel,"  Dominic  remarked  coldly. 

"  No  doubt,  in  the  first  instance.  But  should  you  have 
reconsidered  your  decision,  and  should  you  think  the  pen- 
sion you  enjoy  an  insufficient  remuneration,  I  am  em- 
powered to  make  you  the  offer,  in  addition,  of  a  fixed 
salary  for  the  past  six  months." 

Listening  to  which  tardy  and  awkward  recognition  of 
his  own  rather  princely  dealings,  Mr.  Iglesias'  temper 
began  to  rise,  his  jaw  to  grow  rigid,  and  his  eyes  danger- 
ously alight. 

"  I  am  not  in  the  habit  of  changing  my  mind,  Sir  Abel," 
he  said.  "  I  proposed  to  make  you  a  free  gift  of  my  time 


THE     FAR     HORIZON 

10 

and  such  experience  as  I  may  possess.  Nothing  has  oc- 
curred to  alter  or  modify  that  intention.  There  are  cir- 
cumstances, into  which  I  do  not  choose  to  enter,  which 
would  render  it  extremely  distasteful  to  me  to  accept  any- 
thing— over  and  above  my  pension — from  yourself  or  from 
any  member  of  your  family  or  firm." 

Here  Sir  Abel,  who  had  been  standing,  sagged  down, 
half-empty-balloon-like,  into  his  chair.  Again  he  eyed 
Iglesias  sharply,  doubtful  of  the  exact  purport  of  his 
speech.  But  again  suspicion  of  covert  sarcasm,  still  more 
of  covert  rebuke,  being  to  him  quite  inconceivable,  he 
rejoined  with  a  condescension  which  he  could  not  but  feel 
was  altogether  praiseworthy : 

"  Enough,  enough,  my  good  friend.  That  is  sufficient. 
I  will  detain  you  no  longer;  but  will  merely  add  that  I 
commend  your  reticence  while  appreciating  the  sentiments 
which  dictate  your  refusal.  These  it  is  easy  to  interpret. 
They  shall  not  be  forgotten,  since  they  constitute  a  very 
suitable  acknowledgment  of  the  advantages  and  benefits 
which  have  accrued  to  you  during  your  long  association 
with  my  partners  and  myself." 

Later,  journeying  westward  upon  the  'bustop,  Dominic 
Iglesias  meditated  in  a  spirit  of  humorous  pity  upon  the 
above  conversation.  He  was  very  glad  he  had  not  lost 
his  temper.  Eyes  blinded  by  self-worship,  an  impenetra- 
ble hide,  these  things,  too,  have  their  uses  in  time — very 
practical  uses,  which  it  would  be  silly  to  ignore.  Why, 
then,  be  angry?  The  truly  wise  man,  as  Dominic  told 
himself  with  a  somewhat  mournful  smile,  learns  to  leave 
such  time-wise  fools  as  Sir  Abel  Barking  to  Almighty  God 
for  chastisement,  because — if  it  can  be  said  without  irrev- 
erence—the Almighty  alone  has  wit  enough  to  deal  with 
them.  And,  for  his  comfort  on  lower  levels,  he  reminded 
himself  that  though  the  house  of  Barking  might  show 
him  scant  gratitude,  and  attribute  its  financial  resurrec- 


THE     FAR     HORIZON 

tion  to  its  own  inherent  virtue,  this  was  not  the  opinion 
held  by  outsiders.  The  manager  of  Pavitt's  Bank,  and 
certain  members  of  Goomme,  Hills,  Murray  &  Co.,  had  con- 
gratulated Iglesias,  personally,  upon  his  admirable  conduct 
of  affairs  during  the  crisis,  and  assured  him  of  the  high 
respect  they  had  conceived  for  his  judgment,  his  probity, 
and  business  acumen.  In  this  there  was  satisfaction  of 
a  silent  but  deep-seated  sort — satisfaction  of  pride,  since 
he  had  accomplished  that  which  he  had  set  forth  to  accom- 
plish: satisfaction  of  honour  through  unbiassed  and  un- 
solicited commendation.  With  that  satisfaction  he  bade 
himself  rest  thankfully  content,  while  turning  his  thoughts 
to  other  and  more  edifying  subjects. 

And,  in  this  connection,  it  was  inevitable  that  a  former 
journeying  westward  upon  a  'bustop  should  occur  to  him, 
with  its  strange  record  of  likeness  and  unlikeness  in  cir- 
cumstance and  outlook.  Then,  as  now,  somewhat  outworn 
in  mind  and  in  health,  he  had  closed  a  period  of  labour  and 
faced  new  conditions,  new  habits,  unaccustomed  freedom 
and  leisure.  But  now  on  matters  of  vital,  because  of 
eternal,  importance,  his  mind  was  at  rest.  Loneliness  and 
on-coming  old  age  had  ceased  to  disquiet  him.  The  ship 
of  his  individual  fate  no  longer  drifted  rudderless  or 
risked  danger  of  stranding,  but  steered  steadily,  fear- 
lessly, towards  the  promise  of  a  secure  and  lovely  har- 
bourage. The  voyage  might  be  long  or  short.  At  this 
moment  Dominic  supposed  himself  indifferent  in  the  matter, 
since  he  believed — not  presumptuously,  but  through  the 
outreaching  of  a  great  faith — that  the  end  was  certain. 
And  meditating,  just  now,  upon  that  gracious  conviction, 
while  the  red-painted  half-empty  omnibus  fared  onward 
down  Piccadilly,  a  sense  of  the  unusual  graciousness  of 
things  immediate  and  visible  took  hold  on  him. 

For  to-day  the  monstrous  mother,  London-town,  wore 
a  pensive  and  delicate  aspect.  The  tender  melancholy  of 


THE    FAR     HORIZON  331 

early  autumn  was  upon  her,  she  looking  etherealised  and 
even  youthful,  as  does  a  penitent  cleansed  from  the  soil 
of  past  transgressions  by  fasting  and  tears.  No  doubt 
she  would  sin  again  and  befoul  herself,  for  the  melting 
moods  of  a  great  city  are  transient;  yet  for  the  moment 
she  showed  very  meek  and  mild.  The  atmosphere  was 
clear/  with  the  exquisite  clarity  which  follows  abundant 
and  welcome  rain  after  a  spell  of  heat  and  drought.  The 
trees,  somewhat  sparse  in  foliage,  were  distinct  with  in- 
finite gradations  of  blonde,  golden,  and  umber  tints,  as 
of  burnished  metal,  against  their  black  branches  and  stems. 
The  endless  vista  of  grey  and  red  buildings,  outlined  finely 
yet  without  harshness,  towered  up  into  a  thin,  sad,  blue  sky 
overspread  with  long-drawn  shoals  and  islands,  low-shored 
and  sinuous,  of  pale  luminous  cloud.  Upon  the  grey 
pavements  the  bright-coloured  dress  of  a  woman — mauve, 
green,  or  pink — took  on  a  peculiar  value  here  and  there, 
amid  the  generality  of  darkly  clad  pedestrians.  And  in 
the  traffic,  too,  the  white  tilt  of  a  van  or  rather  barbaric 
reds  and  yellows  of  the  omnibuses,  stood  away  from  the 
sombre  hues  of  the  mass  of  vehicles.  The  air,  as  Iglesias 
met  it — he  occupying  the  seat  on  the  right  immediately 
behind  that  of  the  driver — was  soft,  yet  with  a  perceptible 
freshness  of  moisture  in  it ;  a  cool,  wistful  wind  seeming  to 
hail  from  very  far,  the  wings  of  it  laden  less  with  hopeful 
promise  than  with  rare  unspoken  farewells,  gentle  yet 
penetrating  regrets;  so  that  Dominic,  even  while  welcom- 
ing the  refreshment  of  it,  was  moved  in  spirit  with  im- 
pressions of  impending  finality  as  though  it  spoke  to  him 
of  things  finished,  laid  aside,  not  wholly  without  sorrow 
relinquished  and — so  far  as  outward  seeming  went — forgot. 
Involuntarily  his  eyes  filled  with  tears.  Then  he  re- 
proached himself.  Of  what  had  he  to  complain?  The 
will  must  indeed  be  weak,  the  spiritual  vision  reprehensively 
clouded,  if  these  vague  voices  of  nature  could  so  disturb 


83<3  THE     FAR    HORIZON 

the  serenity  of  the  soul.  Thus  he  reasoned  with  himself, 
almost  sternly.  But,  just  then,  the  flaming  rose-scarlet 
bill  on  the  knife-board  of  a  passing  omnibus  attracted  his 
attention,  along  with  the  announcement,  in  big  letters, 
which  it  set  forth.  To-night  the  Twentieth  Century 
Theatre  opened  its  winter  season  with  a  new  piece  by  that 
admirable  but  all  too  indolent  and  intermittent  dramatist, 
Antony  Hammond;  and  in  it  Poppy  St.  John  played  the 
leading  lady's  part. 


CHAPTER   XXXIV 

OPPOSITE  St.  Mary  Abbott's  church  Mr.  Iglesias  lighted 
down  from  the  'bustop.  His  eyes  were  still  dazzled  by 
those  flaming  bills. — Lionel  Gordon  was  advertising  hand- 
somely. The  knife-board  of  every  second  omnibus  dis- 
played them,  now  he  came  to  look. — His  thought  turned 
in  quickened  interest  towards  the  Lady  of  the  Windswept 
Dust  and  all  that  the  said  advertisements  stood  for  in  her 
case.  He  had  seen  her  a  few  days  ago,  after  rehearsal, 
and  she  had  warned  him  off  being  present  to-night. 

"  It's  all  going  like  hot  cakes,  dear  man,"  she  had  said 
gaily,  "  still,  as  you  love  me,  don't  come.  I  should  be 
more  nervous  of  you  than  ninety  dozen  critics.  I  shall 
want  you  badly,  all  the  same,  don't  doubt  that ;  and  I  shall 
play  to  you,  all  the  while,  though  you're  not  there.  But 
— don't  you  understand? — if  I  actually  saw  you  it  might 
come  between  me  and  my  part.  I  shouldn't  be  sure  who  I 
really  was,  and  that  would  make  me  as  jumpy  as  a  sick 
cat.  You  shall  know — I'll  wire  to  you  directly  the  show's 
over ;  but  I'd  best  have  my  first  round  quite  alone  with  the 
public.  And  then  a  first  night  is  always  a  bit  jungly — 
not  quite  fair  on  the  play  or  the  company,  or  the  audience 
either  for  that  matter.  A  play's  the  same  as  a  ship,  if 
there's  any  real  art  in  it.  It  needs  time  to  find  itself.  So 
just  wait,  like  a  lamb,  till  we've  all  shaken  into  place,  and 
I'm  quite  at  home  in  the  saddle." 

And  in  truth  Dominic  Iglesias  had  plenty  to  occupy  his 
time  and  attention  at  this  particular  juncture,  irrespective 
of  Poppy's  debut  at  the  Twentieth  Century  Theatre.  For 
to-morrow  would  close  his  connection  with  Cedar  Lodge, 
as  to-day  had  closed  his  connection  with  Messrs.  Barking 

333 


THE     FAR     HORIZON 

Brothers  &  Barking.  The  mind  in  hours  of  fatigue,  when 
vitality  is  low  and  the  power  of  concentration  consequently 
deficient,  has  a  tendency  to  work  in  layers,  so  to  speak,  one 
strain  of  thought  overlying  another.  Hence  it  was  that 
Iglesias'  contemplation  of  those  gaudy  advertisements, 
and  of  their  bearing  upon  Poppy's  fortunes,  failed  to  oust 
the  premonitions  of  finality  which  had  come  to  and  some- 
what perturbed  him  as  he  looked  upon  the  pensive  tear- 
washed  face  of  London-penitent,  cleansed  by  the  breath  of 
the  wistful  far-hailing  autumn  wind.  Involuntarily,  and 
notwithstanding  his  repudiation  of  them,  he  continued  to 
question  those  premonitions  and  the  clinging  melancholy 
of  them,  asking  whether  they  bore  relation  merely  to  the 
two  not  wholly  unwelcome  partings  above  indicated ;  or 
whether  the  foreboding  induced  by  them  did  not  find  its 
source  in  some  sentiment,  some  intuition  of  approaching 
change,  far  more  intimate  and  profound  than  cessation 
of  employment  or  alteration  of  dwelling-place.  Then,  as 
he  walked  on  up  Church  Street  another  layer  of  thought 
presented  itself.  For  he  could  not  but  call  to  mind  how 
many  hundred  times  he  had  trodden  that  pavement  before 
close  against  the  close-packed  traffic,  the  high  barrack- 
wall  on  the  right  hand,  the  row  of  modest  shop-fronts  on 
the  left,  on  his  way  home  to  the  little  house  in  Holland 
Street.  Once  more  that  house  was  home  to  him.  He  would 
cross  its  familiar  threshold  to-day  as  master.  Yet  how 
differently  to  of  old !  How  steep  the  hill  was !  How 
languid  and  spent  he  became  in  ascending  it — slowly,  de- 
liberately, instead  of  with  light-footed  energy  and  indif- 
ference !  And  this  made  him  ask  himself,  what  if  these 
premonitions  of  finality,  of  impending  farewells,  of  com- 
pulsory relinquishment,  had  indeed  a  very  special  and 
definite  significance,  being  sent  to  him  as  heralds  of  the 
approach  of  a  common  yet — to  each  individual  being — 
unique  and  altogether  tremendous  change?  What  if  that 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  335 

if  • 
haunting  curiosity  of  the  unknown — concerning  which  he 

had  spoken  with  Poppy  St.  John  amid  the  white  magic  of 
the  moonlight  during  the  enchanted  hour  of  his  and  her 
friendship — was  to  be  satisfied  very  soon? 

Iglesias  drew  himself  up  to  his  full  height,  fatigue  and 
bodily  weakness  alike  forgotten,  and  stood  for  a  little 
space  at  the  turn  into  Holland  Street,  hat  in  hand,  facing 
the  delicately  chill  wind  and  looking  away  into  the  fine 
perspective  of  sky  overspread  by  shoals  and  islands  of  pale 
luminous  cloud.  Calmly — yet  with  the  sharp  amazement 
inevitable  when  things  taken  for  granted,  tacitly  and 
nominally  accepted  throughout  a  lifetime,  suddenly  ad- 
vance into  the  immediate  foreground,  becoming  actual, 
tangible,  imperative — he  asked  himself,  was  death  so  very 
near,  then?  At  the  church  of  the  Carmelite  Priory  just 
above — the  high  slated  roofs  and  slender  iron  crockets  of 
which  overtopped  the  parapets  of  the  intervening  houses — 
a  bell  tolled  as  the  officiating  priest,  in  giving  the  Benedic- 
tion, elevated  the  sacred  Host.  And  that  note,  at  once 
austere  and  plaintive,  striking  across  the  hoarse  murmur 
and  trample  of  the  streets,  was  very  grateful  to  Dominic 
Iglesias.  For  it  assured  him  of  this,  at  least,  that  when 
for  him  the  supreme  hour  did  indeed  strike  and  he  was 
called  upon  to  go  forth  alone — as  every  soul  must  go — to 
meet  the  impenetrable  mystery  which  veils  the  close  of  the 
earthly  chapter,  he  would  not  go  forth  unbefriended,  but 
absolved,  anointed,  fortified,  made  ready— in  so  far  as 
readiness  for  so  stupendous  an  ordeal  is  possible — by  the 
rites  of  Holy  Church. 

"Fiat  misericordia  tua  Domme  super  nos:  quemad- 
modum  speravimus  te.  In  te  Domme  speravi:  non  con- 
fundar  in  ceternum,"  he  quoted  half  aloud. 

And  then  could  not  forbear  to  smile,  gravely  and  some- 
what sadly,  registering  the  deep  pathos  of  the  fact  that 
the  majestic  hymn  of  praise  and  thanksgiving,  dedicated 


336  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

by  the  use  of  Christendom  throughout  centuries  to  the 
celebration  of  highest  triumph,  still  ends  brokenly  with  a 
childlike  sob  of  shrinking,  of  entreaty,  and  very  human 
pain. 

Meditating  upon  which,  and  upon  much  implied  by 
it,  not  only  of  sorrow  but  of  consolation  for  whoso  is  not 
afraid  to  understand,  Iglesias  moved  onward.  But — so 
closely  do  things  absurd  and  trivial  jostle  things  august 
and  of  profound  significance  in  daily  happenings — he  was 
speedily  aroused  from  meditation  and  his  attention  claimed 
by  example  of  quite  another  order  of  pathos  to  that  sug- 
gested by  the  concluding  verses  of  the  Te  Deum.  Some 
little  way  ahead  a  brown-painted  furniture  van  was  backed 
against  the  curb.  From  the  cave-like  interior  of  it  coat- 
less  white-aproned  men  bore  a  miscellaneous  collection  of 
goods — among  others  a  battered  dapple-grey  rocking- 
horse  with  flowing  mane  and  tail — across  the  yard-wide 
strip  of  garden,  and  in  at  the  front  door  of  a  small 
old-fashioned  house.  Bass  mats  were  strewn  upon  the 
pavement.  Sheets  of  packing  paper  pirouetted  down  the 
roadway  before  the  wind.  While,  standing  in  the  midst 
of  the  litter,  watching  the  process  of  unloading  with  per- 
plexed and  even  agitated  interest,  was  a  whimsical  figure 
— large  of  girth,  short  of  limb,  convex  where  the  accredited 
lines  of  beauty  demand,  if  not  concavity,  at  least  a  refined 
flatness  of  surface. 

The  Latin,  unlike  the  Anglo-Saxon,  does  not  consider 
it  necessary  as  soon  as  adolescence  is  past  to  extirpate 
his  heart;  or,  failing  successful  performance  of  that 
heroic  operation,  strictly  to  limit  the,  activities  of  it  to 
his  amours,  legitimate  or  otherwise.  Hence  Dominic 
Iglesias  felt  no  shame  that  the  sight  of  his  old  plaything, 
or  of  his  old  school-fellow — now  unhwppily  estranged  from 
and  suspicious  of  hin1 — should  provoke  in  him  a  great 
tenderness.  Upon  the  battered  rocking-horse  his  heart 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  337 

rode  away  to  the  dear  sheltered  happiness  of  childhood, 
while  towards  his  former  school-fellow  it  went  forth  in 
unmixed  kindliness.  For  it  appeared  to  him  that  for  one 
who  had  so  lately  held  converse  with  approaching  death, 
it  would  be  a  very  scandal  of  light-minded  pettiness  to 
nourish  resentment  against  any  fellow  creature.  In  near 
prospect  of  the  eternal  judgment,  private  and  temporal 
judgment  can  surely  afford  to  declare  a  universal  amnesty 
in  respect  of  personal  slights  and  injuries.  Therefore, 
after  but  a  moment's  hesitation,  he  went  on,  laid  his 
hand  upon  George  Lovegrove's  shoulder,  and  called  him 
affectionately  by  name. 

"  Dominic !  "  the  latter  cried,  and  stood  staring.  "  Well 
to  be  sure — you  did  surprise  me!  To  think  of  meeting 
you  just  by  accident  to-day,  like  this!" 

He  grew  furiously  red,  gladness  and  embarrassment 
struggling  within  him.  Conscientiously  he  strove  to  be 
faithful  to  the  menagerie  of  ignorances  and  prejudices 
which  he  misnamed  his  convictions.  For  here  was  the 
representative  of  the  Accursed  Thing — persecutor,  enemy 
of  truth,  of  patriotism,  of  marriage,  worshipper  of  sense- 
less idols;  but,  alas!  how  he  loved  that  representative! 
How  he  honoured  his  intelligence,  admired  his  person, 
coveted  his  companionship !  Beholding  Iglesias  once  again, 
George  Lovegrove  rejoiced  as  at  the  finding  of  lost  treas- 
ure. Hence,  perplexed,  perspiring,  lamentably  squinting, 
yet  with  the  innocent  half-shy  ecstasy  of  a  girl  looking 
upon  her  recovered  lover,  he  gazed  up  into  Mr.  Iglesias' 
face. 

"  I  give  you  my  word  I  was  never  more  taken  aback 
in  my  life,"  he  protested.  "  As  it  happened  I  was  just 
thinking  about  old  times,  observing  that  some  family  is 
moving  into  your  former  house.  But  I  had  no  notion  of 
meeting  you.  Positively  I  am  unable  to  grasp  the  fact. 
I  have  not  a  word  to  say  to  you,  because  I  require  to 


S38  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

say  so  much.  I  know  there  is  a  great  deal  which  needs 
explanation  on  my  part.  And  then  your  calling  me  by 
my  name,  too !  I  declare  it  went  right  through  me,  as 
a  voice  from  the  grave  might." 

"  Put  aside  explanations,"  Iglesias  replied  indulgently. 
"  You  are  not  going  to  quarrel  with  me  any  more — let  that 
suffice." 

"  No,  I  cannot  quarrel  with  you  any  more.  I  am  sure 
I  don't  know  whether  it  is  unprincipled  or  not,  but  I  cannot 
do  it." 

Regardless  of  observation,  he  pulled  out  a  handkerchief 
and  mopped  his  face. 

"  If  it  is  unprincipled  I  must  just  let  it  go,"  he  said, 
quite  recklessly.  "  I  cannot  help  myself.  I  give  you  my 
word,  Dominic,  I  have  held  out  as  long  as  I  could." 

This  appeal  to  Iglesias,  as  against  himself,  appeared  to 
him  abundantly  unaffected  and  ingenuous. 

"  I  cannot  but  believe  you  will  find  the  consequences  of 
renewed  intercourse  with  me  less  damaging  than  you  sup- 
pose," he  answered,  smiling. 

"  That  is  what  the  wife  says,"  the  other  man  stated. 
"  She  has  veered  round  completely  in  her  opinion,  has  the 
wife.  I  do  not  understand  why,  except  that  Mrs.  Porcher 
and  Miss  Hart  and  she  seem  to  have  fallen  out.  The 
workings  of  females'  minds  are  very  difficult  to  follow, 
even  after  years  of  marriage,  you  know,  Dominic.  Oppo- 
sition to  one  of  their  own  sex  will  make  them  warmly 
embrace  opinions  you  supposed  were  just  those  which  they 
most  strongly  condemned.  She  has  taken  a  very  high 
tone,  for  some  time  past,  about  the  Cedar  Lodge  ladies, 
has  the  wife.  And  when  I  came  in,  the  evening  of  her  last 
at-home  day,  I  found  her  sadly  upset  at  having  heard 
from  one  of  them  that  you  were  about  to  leave.  She  im- 
plied that  I  was  to  blame ;  whereas  I  can  truthfully  say 
my  conduct  throughout  has  been  largely  influenced  by  the 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  339 

p 

fear  of  hurting  her  feelings."  The  speaker  looked  help- 
lessly at  Mr.  Iglesias.  "  Of  course  we  do  not  expect  the 
same  reticence  in  speech  from  females  we  require  of 
ourselves.  Still,  such  unfounded  accusations  are  rather 
galling." 

"  I  cannot  be  otherwise  than  very  grateful  to  Mrs. 
Lovegrove  for  espousing  my  cause,  you  see,"  Iglesias 
replied.  This  confused  and  gentle  being,  struggling  with 
the  complexities  of  friendship,  religious  prejudice,  and 
feminine  methods  and  amenities,  was  wholly  moving.  "  Cir- 
cumstances have  arisen  which  have  made  me  decide  to 
give  up  my  rooms  at  Cedar  Lodge.  To-night  is  the  last 
upon  which  I  shall  occupy  them.  But  I  do  not  wish  Mrs. 
Lovegrove  to  be  under  any  misapprehension  regarding 
my  hostess  and  her  companion.  I  have  nothing  to  com- 
plain of.  During  my  long  residence  they  have  treated 
me  with  courtesy  and  consideration.  I  wish  them  nothing 
but  good.  Still  the  time  has  come,  I  feel,  for  leaving 
Cedar  Lodge." 

Here  the  worthy  George's  imagination  indulged  in  wild 
flights.  Visions  of  a  hideous  and  rugged  cell — of  the  sort 
known  exclusively  to  serial  melodrama — and  of  a  beauti- 
ful woman,  in  voluminous  rose-red  skirts  and  a  costly 
overcoat,  presented  themselves  to  him  in  amazing  juxta- 
position. 

"  Of  course,  I  have  forfeited  all  right  to  question  you 
as  to  your  plans,  Dominic,"  he  said  hurriedly  and  humbly. 
"  I  quite  realise  that.  I  believed  I  was  acting  on  principle 
in  keeping  away  from  you,  all  the  more  because  it  pained 
me  terribly  to  do  so.  I  believed  I  was  being  consistent. 
Now  I  begin  to  fear  I  was  only  obstinate  and  cowardly. 
Your  kindness  of  manner  has  completely  unmanned  me.  I 
see  how  superior  you  are  in  liberality  to  myself.  And  so 
it  cuts  me  to  the  quick,  more  than  ever,  to  part  from 
you." 


840  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

"  Why  should  we  part  ?  "  Iglesias  asked. 

"  But  you  are  going  away.  The  wife  told  me  she  heard 
you  were  leaving  London  altogether ;  whether  to — I  hardly 
like  to  mention  the  supposition — to  join  some  brotherhood 
or — or,  to  be  married,  she  did  not  know." 

Mr.  Iglesias  shook  his  head,  smiling  sweetly  and  bravely. 

"  Oh !  no,  no,  my  dear  fellow,"  he  answered.  "  Rumour 
must  have  been  rather  unpardonably  busy  with  my  name. 
I  fear  I  am  about  equally  ill-fitted  for  monastic  and  for 
married  life.  The  day  of  splendid  ventures,  whether  of 
religion  or  of  love,  is  over  for  me;  and  I  shall  die,  as  I 
have  lived,  a  bachelor  and  a  layman.  Nor  shall  I  cease 
to  be  your  neighbour,  for  I  am  only  returning  here  " — he 
pointed  to  the  open  door,  in  at  which  coatless  white-aproned 
men  carried  that  miscellaneous  collection  of  furniture — 
"  to  the  little  old  Holland  Street  house.  Lately  I  have 
had  a  great  craving  upon  me  to  be  at  home  again — alone, 
save  for  one  or  two  precious  friendships ;  with  leisure  to 
read  and  to  think ;  and,  in  as  far  as  my  poor  mental  powers 
permit,  to  become  a  humble  student  of  the  awe-inspiring 
philosophy — reconciling  things  natural  and  supernatural 
— of  which  the  Catholic  Church  is  the  exponent,  her  creeds 
its  textbook,  her  ceremonies  and  ritual  the  divinely  ap- 
pointed symbols  of  its  secret  truths."  Iglesias'  expres- 
sion was  exalted,  his  speech  penetrated  by  enthusiasm.  "  It 
would  be  profitable  and  happy,"  he  said,  "  before  the  final 
auditing  of  accounts,  to  be  a  little  better  versed  in  this 
wonderful  and  living  wisdom." 

And  George  Lovegrove  stood  watching  him,  bewildered, 
agitated,  full  of  doubt  and  inquiry. 

"  Ah !  it  is  all  beyond  me,  quite  beyond  me,"  he  exclaimed 
presently.  "  Mistaken  or  not,  I  see  you  are  in  touch  with 
thoughts  altogether  outside  my  experience  and  compre- 
hension. I  supposed  Romanism  could  only  be  held  by  un- 
educated and  superstitious  persons.  I  see  I  was  wrong. 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  341 

0 

I  ask  your  pardon,  Dominic.  I  see  I  quite  undervalued 
it."  Then  his  manner  changed,  quick  perception  and 
consequent  distress  seizing  him.  "Ah!  but  you  are  ill. 
That  is  the  meaning  of  it  all.  You  are  ill.  Now  I  come 
to  observe  you,  I  see  how  thin  and  drawn  your  face  is. 
How  shall  I  ever  forgive  myself  for  not  finding  that  out 
sooner !  I  have  differed  from  you  and  blamed  you.  I  have 
sulked,  and  thought  bitterly  of  you,  and  avoided  you.  I 
have  even  been  envious,  hearing  how  successfully  you 
carried  through  affairs  this  anxious  time  at  the  bank.  I 
have  been  a  contemptibly  mean-spirited  individual.  No,  I 
can  never  forgive  myself.  I  have  found  you  again,  only 
to  lose  you.  You  are  in  bad  health.  You  have  been  suf- 
fering, and  I  never  thought  to  inquire  about  that.  I 
never  knew  it." 

But  Dominic  Iglesias  made  effort  to  comfort  him,  speak- 
ing not  uncheerfully,  determining  even  to  fight  the  fatigue 
and  weakness  which,  as  he  could  not  but  own,  daily  in- 
creased on  him,  if  only  for  the  sake  of  this  faithful  and 
simple  adherent. 

"  Perhaps  the  sands  are  running  rather  low,"  he  said ; 
"  but  that  does  not  greatly  matter.  The  conditions  are 
in  process  of  alteration.  Now  that  I  am  free  of  my  City 
work,  the  strain  is  practically  over.  With  care  and  quiet, 
the  sands  that  remain  in  the  glass  may  run  very  slowly. 
I  have  a  peaceful  time  in  prospect,  here  in  my  old  home. 
When  I  left  here,  eight  years  ago,  I  could  not  make  up 
my  mind  to  part  with  any  of  our  family  belongings,  so  I 
warehoused  all  the  contents  of  the  house,  save  those  which 
I  took  to  furnish  my  rooms  at  Cedar  Lodge.  Now  these 
half-forgotten  possessions  see  the  light  once  more.  This 
in  itself  should  constitute  a  staying  of  the  running  sands, 
a  putting  back  of  the  hands  of  the  clock.  Then  I  have 
two  good  servants  to  care  for  me.  I  am  fortunate  in 
that.  And  your  friendship  is  restored  to  me.  I  should  be 


342  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

ungrateful  if  I  did  not  live  on  for  a  while  to  enjoy  all 
this  kindly  circumstance.  So  do  not  grieve.  There  are 
many  after-dinner  pipes  to  be  smoked,  many  talks  to  be 
talked  yet. — Come  into  the  house,  and  see  it  as  you  used 
to  know  it  when  we  both  were  young.  Surely  it  is  a  good 
omen  that  you,  my  earliest  friend,  should  be  my  first  visitor 
when  I  come  home?  " 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

DE  COURCY  SMYTH  was  not  drank,  but  he  had  been  drink- 
ing— persistently  nipping,  as  his  custom  was  in  times  of 
mental  excitement,  in  the  fallacious  hope  of  keeping  up 
courage  and  steadying  irritable  nerves.  The  series  of 
moods  usually  resultant  on  such  recourse  to  spirituous 
liquors,  followed  one  another  with  clock-work  regularity. 
He  was  alternately  hysterically  elated,  preternaturally 
moral,  offensively  quarrelsome,  maudlin  to  the  point  of 
tears.  The  first  matinee  of  his  long-promised  play  had 
prospered  but  very  ill,  notwithstanding  large  advertise- 
ment and  free  list.  The  second  had  prospered  even  worse. 
Mercifully  disposed  persons,  slipping  out  between  the  acts, 
had  been  careful  not  to  return.  Less  amiably  disposed 
ones  had  remained  to  titter  or  hiss.  Failure  had  been  writ- 
ten in  capital  letters  across  the  whole  performance — and 
deservedly,  in  the  estimation  of  every  one  save  the  unhappy 
author  himself.  The  play  had  perished  in  the  very  act 
of  birth. 

But  of  this  tragic  termination  to  so  many  extravagant 
hopes  Dominic  Iglesias  was  still  ignorant,  as  he  entered 
the  dismantled  sitting-room  at  Cedar  Lodge  that  same 
night  a  little  after  half -past  ten  o'clock.  He  had  dined 
in  the  old  house  in  Holland  Street;  served  by  Frederick, 
the  German-Swiss  valet,  who,  some  weeks  previously,  hear- 
ing of  his  intended  departure,  had  announced  his  inten- 
tion of  "  bettering  himself,"  had  given  Mrs.  Porcher  warn- 
ing, and,  in  moving  terms  and  three  languages,  implored 
employment  of  Iglesias,  declaring  that  the  other  gentle- 
men resident  at  Cedar  Lodge  were  "  no  class,"  their  clothes 
utterly  unworthy  of  his  powers  of  brushing  and  folding. 

343 


344  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

Iglesias  stayed  on  in  Holland  Street  until  late,  the  charm 
and  gentleness  of  old  associations,  the  sight  of  familiar 
objects,  the  gladness  of  restored  friendship  with  George 
Lovegrove  working  upon  him  to  thankfulness.  He  was 
tranquil  in  spirit,  serene  with  the  calm  twilight  serenity  of 
the  strong  who  have  learned  the  secret  of  detachment,  and, 
who,  while  welcoming  all  glad  and  gracious  occurrences, 
have  schooled  themselves  to  resignation,  and,  in  the  affairs 
of  this  world,  do  neither  greatly  fear  nor  greatly  hope. 
And  it  was  in  this  spirit  he  had  made  his  way  back  to  Cedar 
Lodge  and  entered  the  square  panelled  sitting-room.  But, 
the  door  closed,  he  paused,  aware  of  some  sinister  influ- 
ence, some  unknown  yet  repulsive  presence.  The  room  was 
nearly  dark,  the  gas  being  lowered  to  a  pin-point  on  either 
side  the  mantelpiece.  Dominic  moved  across  to  turn  it 
up,  and  in  so  doing  stumbled  over  an  unexpected  obstacle. 
De  Courcy  Smith,  who  had  been  dozing  uneasily  in  the  one 
remaining  armchair,  sat  upright  with  an  oath. 

"  What  are  you  at,  you  swine !  "  he  shouted.  Then  as 
the  light  shone  forth  he  made  an  effort  to  recover  himself. 

"  It's  hardly  necessary  to  announce  your  advent  by  kick- 
ing me,  Mr.  Iglesias,"  he  said  thickly,  and  without  attempt- 
ing to  rise  from  his  seat.  "  Not  but  that  there  is  an 
appropriateness  in  that  graceful  form  of  introduction. 
Only  a  kick  from  the  benevolent  patron,  who  professed 
himself  so  charitably  disposed  towards  me,  was  required 
to  make  up  the  sum  of  outrage  which  has  been  my  portion 
to-day. — Have  you  seen  the  theatrical  items  in  the  evening 
papers  ?  "  With  trembling  hands  he  spread  out  a  news- 
paper upon  his  knees.  "  See  the  way  that  dirty  reptile, 
Percy  Gerrard,  who  succeeded  me  upon  The  Daily  Bulletin, 
has  chopped  me  and  my  play  to  mincemeat,  cut  bits  of  live 
flesh  out  of  me  and  fried  them  in  filth,  and  washed  down 
my  wounds  with  the  vitriol  of  hypocritical  compassion  and 
good  advice?  That  is  the  style  of  recognition  a  really 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  345 

tf 

first-class  work  of  art,  fit  to  rank  with  the  classics, 
with  Wycherley,  and  Congreve,  and  Sheridan,  or  Lytton— 
for  there  are  qualities  of  all  these  very  dissimilar  masters 
in  my  writing— gets  from  the  present-day  press.  As  I 
have  told  you  all  along,  the  critics  and  playwrights  hate 
me  because  they  fear  me.  I  have  never  spared  them.  I 
have  exposed  them  and  their  ignorance,  and  want  of 
scholarship,  in  print.  They  know  I  spoke  the  truth. 
Their  hatred  is  witness  to  my  veracity.  They  have  been 
nursing  their  venom  for  years.  Now  with  one  consent 
they  pour  it  forth.  It  is  a  vile  plot  and  conspiracy.  They 
were  sworn  to  swamp  me,  so  they  formed  a  ring.  They 
did  not  care  what  they  spent  so  long  as  they  succeeded  in 
crushing  me.  Every  one  has  been  bought,  miserably, 
scandalously  bought.  This  is  the  only  conceivable  ex- 
planation of  the  reception  my  play  has  met  with.  They 
got  at  the  members  of  my  company.  My  actors  played 
better  at  first,  better  at  rehearsal.  Yesterday  and  to-day 
they  have  played  like  a  row  of  wooden  ninepins,  of  straw- 
stuffed  scarecrows,  of  rot-stricken  idiots!  They  missed 
their  cues,  and  forgot  their  lines,  or  pretended  to  do  so; 
and  then  had  the  infernal  impertinence  to  giggle  and  gag, 
blast  them !  I  heard  them.  I  could  have  screamed.  I 
tried  to  stop  them;  and  the  stage-manager  swore  at  me 
in  the  wings,  and  the  scene-shifters  laughed.  It  was  a 
hideous  nightmare.  The  audience  laughed — the  sound  of 
it  is  in  my  ears  now,  and  it  tortures  me,  for  it  was  not 
natural  laughter.  It  was  not  spontaneous — how  could  it 
be  so?  It  was  simply  part  of  this  iniquitous  conspiracy 
to  ruin  me.  It  was  hired  mockery,  bought  and  paid  for, 
the  mockery  of  subsidised  traitors,  liars,  imbeciles,  the 
inhuman  mockery  of  grinning  apes !  " 

He  crushed  the  newspaper  together  with  both  hands, 
flung  it  across  the  room,  and  broke  into  hysterical  weeping. 

"  For  my  play  is  a  masterpiece,"  he  wailed.     "  It  is  a 


346  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

work  of  genius.  No  other  man  living  could  have  written 
it.  Yet  it  is  damned  by  a  brainless  public  and  vindictive 
press,  while  I  know  and  they  know — they  must  know,  the 
fact  is  self-evident — that  it  is  great,  nothing  less  than 
great." 

During  this  harangue  Dominic  Iglesias  stood  immova- 
ble, facing  the  speaker,  but  looking  down,  not  at  him,  rigid 
in  attitude,  silent.  Any  attempt  to  stem  the  torrent  of 
the  wretched  man's  speech  would  have  been  futile.  Dominic 
judged  it  kindest  just  to  wait,  letting  passion  tear  him 
till,  by  force  of  its  own  violence,  it  had  worn  itself  out. 
Then,  but  not  till  them,  it  might  be  helpful  to  intervene. 
Still  the  exhibition  was  a  very  painful  one,  putting  a  heavy 
strain  upon  the  spectator.  For  be  a  fellow  creature  never 
so  displeasing  in  nature  and  in  habit,  never  so  cankered  by 
vanity  and  self-love,  it  cannot  be  otherwise  than  hideous 
to  see  him  upon  the  rack.  And  that  de  Courcy  Smyth  was 
very  actually  upon  the  rack — a  rack  well  deserved,  may  be, 
and  of  his  own  constructing,  but  which  wrenched  his  every 
joint  to  the  agony  of  dislocation  nevertheless — there  could 
be  no  manner  of  doubt.  Coming  as  conclusion  to  the  long 
day,  to  the  peaceful  evening — the  thought  of  the  Lady  of 
the  Windswept  Dust,  moreover,  and  her  fortunes  so  emi- 
nently and  presently  just  now  in  the  balance,  in  his  mind 
— the  whole  situation  was  horrible  to  Dominic  Iglesias. 

But  Smyth's  mood  changed,  his  tears  ceasing  as  incon- 
tinently as  they  had  begun.  He  ceased  to  slouch  and 
writhe,  passed  his  hands  across  his  blood-shot  eyes,  drew 
himself  up  in  his  chair,  began  to  snarl,  even  to  swagger. 

"  I  forget  myself,  and  forget  you,  too,  Mr.  Iglesias — 
which  is  annoying,"  he  said ;  "  for  you  are  about  the  last 
person  from  whom  I  could  expect,  or  should  desire  to 
receive,  sympathy.  Persons  of  my  world,  scholars  and 
idealists,  and  persons  of  your  world,  money-grubbing 
materialists,  can,  in  the  nature  of  things,  have  very  little 


THE    FAR    HORIZON  347 

in  common.  There  is  a  great  gulf  fixed  between  them. 
I  beg  your  pardon  for  having  so  far  forgotten  myself 
as  to  ignore  that  fact,  and  talked  on  subjects  incompre- 
hensible to  you.  What  follows,  however,  will  be  more  in 
your  line,  I  imagine,  and  it  is  this  which  has  made  me  come 
here  to-night.  You  realise  that  your  investment  has 
turned  out  an  unfortunate  one?  You  have  lost,  irre- 
trievably lost,  your  money." 

"  I  was  not  wholly  unprepared  for  that,"  Dominic  an- 
swered. His  temper  was  beginning  to  rise.  Sodden  with 
drink,  maddened  by  failure,  hardly  accountable  for  his 
words  or  actions,  still  the  man's  tone  was  rather  too  offen- 
sive for  endurance.  "  I  had  made  full  provision  for  such 
a  contingency.  I  accept  the  loss.  Pray  do  not  let  it 
trouble  you." 

"Oh!  you  accept  it,  do  you?  You  were  prepared  for 
it?  "  Smyth  broke  in.  "  You  can  afford  to  throw  away 
a  cool  three  hundred  pounds — the  expenses  will  amount  to 
that  at  least  in  the  bulk.  How  very  agreeable  for  you! 
Your  late  operations  in  the  City  must  have  been  surpris^- 
ingly  profitable.  I  was  not  aware,  until  now,  that  we  had 
the  honour  of  numbering  a  millionaire  among  us  at  Cedar 
Lodge.  But  let  me  tell  you  this  extremely  superior  tone 
does  not  please  me,  Mr.  Iglesias.  It  smells  of  insult.  I 
warn  you  you  had  better  be  a  little  careful.  Even  a 
miserable  persecuted  pauper  like  myself  can  make  it  un- 
pleasant for  those  who  insult  him.  I  must  request  you  to 
remember  that  I  am  a  gentleman  by  birth,  and  that  I  have 
the  feelings  of  my  class  where  my  personal  honour  is  con- 
cerned. Do  you  suppose  I  do  not  know  perfectly  well  that 
the  benevolent  attitude  you  have  seen  fit  to  assume  towards 
me  has  been  a  blind,  from  first  to  last;  and  that  every 
penny  you  have  advanced  me  until  now,  as  well  as  the  three 
hundred  pounds,  the  loss  of  which  you  so  amiably  beg 
me  not  to  let  trouble  me,  is  hush-money?  Yes,  hush- 


348  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

money,  I  repeat,  the  price  of  my  silence  regarding  your 
intrigue  with  my  wife — my  wife  who  calls  herself " 

"  We  will  introduce  no  woman's  name  into  this  conversa- 
tion, if  you  please,"  Iglesias  interrupted  sternly. 

The  limit  of  things  pardonable  had  been  passed.  His 
face  was  white  and  keen  as  a  sword.  The  weight  of  years 
and  of  failing  health  had  vanished,  burned  up  by  fierce 
disgust  and  anger,  as  is  mist  by  the  sun-heat.  He  was 
young,  arrogant  in  bearing,  careless  of  consequence  or  of 
danger  as  some  fifteenth-century  finely  bred  fighting  man 
face  to  face  with  his  enemy  and  traducer,  who,  given 
honourable  opportunity,  he  would  kill  or  be  killed  by,  with- 
out faintest  scruple  or  remorse.  And  of  this  temper  of 
mind  his  aspect  was  so  eloquent  that  de  Courcy  Smyth, 
muddled  with  liquor  though  he  was,  seeing  him,  was  seized 
with  panic.  He  scrambled  to  his  feet,  flung  himself  be- 
hind the  chair,  clinging  to  the  back  of  it  for  support. 

"  Don't  look  at  me  like  that,  you  Spanish  devil ! "  he 
whimpered.  "  You  paralyse  me.  You  hypnotise  me.  My 
brain  is  splitting.  You're  drawing  the  life  out  of  me. 
I  shall  go  mad.  If  you  come  a  step  nearer  I'll  make  a 
scandal.  I'll  call  for  help.  Ah!  God  in  heaven,  who's 
that?" 

Only  the  housemaid  entering,  salver  in  hand,  and  leaving 
the  door  wide  open  behind  her.  Upon  the  landing  with- 
out, Farge  and  Worthington,  in  comic  attitudes,  stood  at 
attention. 

"A  telegram  for  you,  sir.  Is  the  boy  to  wait?"  she 
inquired,  in  a  stifled  voice.  "  She  could  hardly  keep  a 
straight  face,"  as  she  reported  downstairs  subsequently, 
"  that  ridiculous  Farge  was  so  full  of  his  jokes." 

Iglesias  tore  open  the  yellow  envelope  and  held  the 
telegraph-form  to  the  light. 

"  Glorious  luck.  Happy  as  a  queen.  Come  to  supper 
after  performance  to-morrow.  Love.  Poppy," 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  349 

# 

His  face  softened. 

"  No  answer,"  he  said,  and  turned  purposing  to  speak 
some  word  of  mercy  to  wretched  de  Courcy  Smyth.  But 
the  latter  had  slunk  out  at  the  open  door,  while  Mr.  Farge, 
in  an  ungovernable  paroxysm  of  humour — levelled  at  the 
departing  housemaid — effectually  covered  his  retreat  by 
cake-walking,  with  very  high  knee  action,  the  length  of 
the  landing,  playing  appropriate  dance-music,  the  while, 
upon  an  imaginary  banjo  in  the  shape  of  Worthington's 
new  crook-handled  walking  stick. 

For  some  time  Dominic  Iglesias  heard  shuffling,  nerve- 
less footsteps  moving  to  and  fro  in  the  room  overhead. 
Then  Smyth  threw  himself  heavily  upon  his  bed.  The 
wire-wove  mattress  creaked,  and  creaked  again  twice.  Un- 
broken silence  followed,  and  Iglesias  breathed  more  easily, 
hoping  the  miserable  being  slept.  For  him,  Iglesias,  there 
was  no  sleep.  His  body  was  too  tired.  His  mind  too 
vividly  and  painfully  awake.  He  lay  down,  it  is  true, 
since  he  did  not  care  to  remain  in  the  dismantled  sitting- 
room  or  occupy  the  chair  in  which  de  Courcy  Smyth  had 
sat.  But,  throughout  the  night,  he  stared  at  the  dark- 
ness and  heard  the  hours  strike.  At  sunset  the  wind 
had  dropped  dead.  In  the  small  hours  it  began  to  rise, 
and  before  dawn  to  freshen,  veering  to  another  quarter. 
Softly  at  first,  and  then  with  richer  diapason,  the  cedar 
tree  greeted  its  mysterious  comrade,  singing  of  far-distant 
times  and  places,  and  of  the  permanence  of  nature  as 
against  the  fitful  evanescent  life  of  man.  That  husky 
singing  soothed  Dominic  Iglesias,  and  calmed  him,  as- 
suring him  that  in  the  hands  of  the  Almighty  are  all 
things,  small  and  great,  past,  present,  and  to  come.  There 
is  neither  haste,  nor  omission,  nor  accident,  nor  oversight 
in  the  divine  plan ;  but  that  plan  is  large  beyond  the  pos- 
sibility of  human  intellect  to  grasp  or  comprehend,  there- 
fore humble  faith  is  also  highest  wisdom. 


350  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

As  the  dawn  quickened  into  day  Dominic  drew  aside  the 
curtain  and  looked  out.  Behind  the  dark  branches,  where 
they  cleared  the  housetops  and  met  the  open  sky,  thrown 
wide  upward  to  the  zenith,  was  the  rose-scarlet  of  sunrise, 
holding,  as  it  seemed  to  him,  at  once  the  splendour  of  battle 
and  the  peace  of  crowned  achievement  and — was  it  but 
a  pretty  conceit  or  a  truth  of  happiest  import? — the 
colour  of  certain  flaring  omnibus  knifeboard  bills  and  the 
colour  of  a  certain  woman's  name. 


CHAPTER   XXXVI 

THE  narrow  lane,  running  back  at  right  angles  to  the 
great  thoroughfare,  was  filled  with  blurred  yellowish  light 
and  covered  in  with  gloom,  low-hanging  and  impene- 
trable. The  high,  blank  buildings  on  either  side  of  it 
looked  like  the  perpendicular  walls  of  a  tunnel,  the  black 
roof  they  apparently  supported  being  as  solid  and  sub- 
stantial as  themselves.  The  effect  thereby  produced  was 
suspect  and  prison-like,  as  of  a  space  walled  in  and  closed 
from  open  air  and  day.  Outside  the  stage  entrance  of 
the  Twentieth  Century  Theatre  a  small  crowd  had  col- 
lected and  formed  up  in  two  parallel  lines  across  the  pave- 
ment to  the  curb,  against  which  a  smart  single  brougham 
and  some  half  a  dozen  four-wheelers  and  hansoms  were 
drawn  up.  The  crowd,  which  gathered  and  broke  only  to 
gather  again,  was  composed  for  the  main  part  of  persons 
of  the  better  artisan  class,  respectable,  soberly  habited,  evi- 
dently awaiting  the  advent  of  relations  employed  within 
the  theatre.  There  was  also  a  sprinkling  of  showy  young 
women,  attended  by  undersized  youths  flashily  dressed.  On 
the  fringes  of  it  night-birds,  male  and  female,  of  evil 
aspect,  loitered,  watchful  of  possible  prey;  while  two  or 
three  gentlemen,  correct,  highly-civilised,  stood  smoking, 
each  with  the  air  of  studied  indifference  which  defies  at- 
tempted recognition  on  the  part  of  friend  or  foe. 

And  among  these  last  Dominic  Iglesias  must  be  counted ; 
though,  in  his  case,  indifference  was  not  assumed  but  real. 
His  surroundings  were  novel,  it  is  true,  and  produced  on 
him  clear  impressions  both  pictorial  and  moral;  but  those 
impressions  were  of  his  surroundings  in  and  for  themselves, 
rather  than  in  any  doubtfulness  of  their  relation  to  him- 
self. For  his  mind  was  occupied  with  problems  painful 

351 


352  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

in  character  and  difficult  of  solution;  and  to  the  said 
problems,  heightening  the  emotional  strain  of  them,  his 
surroundings — the  sense  of  feverish  life,  of  all-encom- 
passing restless  humanity ;  the  figures  anxious,  degraded, 
of  questionable  purpose  or  merely  frivolous,  which  started 
into  momentary  distinctness ;  the  scraps  of  conversation, 
caught  in  passing,  instinct  with  suggestion,  squalid  or 
passionate;  along  with  the  ceaseless  tramp  of  footsteps, 
and  tumult  of  the  great  thoroughfare  just  now  packed 
with  the  turn-out  of  neighbouring  places  of  entertainment 
— supplied  a  background  penetratingly  appropriate. 

For  a  good  half-hour  Mr.  Iglesias  stood  there.  At  in- 
tervals the  door,  of  the  stage  entrance  swung  open,  caus- 
ing a  movement  >  -f  interest  and  comment  among  the  crowd. 
One  by  one  hr./soms  and  four-wheelers,  obtaining  fares, 
rattled  away  over  the  stones.  Yet  the  Lady  of  the  Wind- 
swept Dust  tarried.  It  grew  late,  and  Iglesias  greatly 
desired  her  coming,  greatly  desired  to  speak  with  her,  and 
speaking  to  find  approximate  solution,  at  least,  of  some 
of  the  problems  which  lay  so  heavy  upon  his  mind.  Mean- 
while, the  crowd  melted  and  vanished,  leaving  him  alone 
in  the  blurred  yellowish  light  beneath  the  low-hanging 
roof  of  impenetrable  gloom,  save  for  the  haunting  pres- 
ence of  some  few  of  those  terrible  human  birds  of  prey. 

He  was  about  to  turn  away  also,  not  particularly  relish- 
ing the  remaining  company,  when,  with  a  rush,  Poppy  was 
beside  him,  in  stately  garments  of  black  velvet  and  glim- 
mering tissue  of  silver;  her  head  and  shoulders  draped 
with  something  of  daring  and  magnificence,  in  her  blue- 
purple  jewelled  dragon-embroidered  scarf.  She  caught 
Iglesias'  right  hand  in  both  of  hers  and  held  it  a  moment 
against  her  breast.  And  during  that  brief  interval  he 
registered  the  fact  that,  notwithstanding  her  beauty,  the 
force  of  her  personality  and  richness  of  her  dress,  she  did 
not  look  out  of  place  in  this  somewhat  cut-throat  alley, 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  353 

with  the  questionable  sights  and  sounds  of  midnight  Lon- 
don all  about  her;  but  vivid,  exultant,  true  daughter  of 
great  cities,  fearless  manipulator  of  the  very  varied  op- 
portunities they  offer,  past-master,  for  joy  and  sorrow, 
in  the  curious  arts  they  teach. 

"  Get  into  the  brougham,  dear  man,"  she  said,  "  and 
let  me  talk.  There,  put  up  the  window  on  the  traffic  side. 
I  have  been  in  the  liveliest  worry  about  you.  Had  the 
house  turned  out  of  windows  to  find  you — and  gave  things 
in  general  the  deuce  of  a  time. — The  brougham's  com- 
fortable, isn't  it?  Fallowfeild's  jobbed  it  for  the  winter 
for  me. — All  the  same  I  played  like  an  angel,  out  of  pure 
desperation,  thinking  you  might  be  ill.  I  made  the  audi- 
ence cry  big,  big  tears,  bless  'em.  And  it  wasn't  the  part 
— not  a  bit  of  it.  It  was  you,  just  simply  you. — And  then 
I  dawdled  talking  to  Antony  Hammond  about  some  lines  in 
the  second  act  I  want  altered,  so  as  to  let  mys'elf  down 
easy  before  digesting  the  disappointment  of  driving  back 
to  Bletchworth  Mansions  alone.  I  wanted  so  very  badly  to 
have  you  see  me.  Beloved  and  most  faithless  of  beings, 
why  the  mischief  didn't  you  come?  " 

And  Iglesias  sitting  beside  her  watching  her  joyous 
face,  crowned  by  her  dark  hair,  set  in  the  gleaming  folds 
of  her  jewelled  scarf,  as  passing  lights  revealed  it  clearly, 
or  shifting  left  it  in  soft  shadow,  divined  rather  than 
actually  seen,  became  sadly  conscious  that  the  problems 
which  oppressed  him  were  not  only  hard  of  solution  but 
hard  of  statement  likewise.  It  seemed  heartless  to  pro- 
pound them  in  this,  her  hour  of  success.  Yet,  unless  he 
was  deeply  mistaken,  the  statement  of  them  must  tell  for 
emancipation  and  relief  in  the  end. 

"The  play  has  gone  well,  and  you  are  happy?"  he 
asked  her. 

"  Gorgeously — I  grant  you  I  was  a  bit  nervous  as  to 
whether  during  these  years  of— well— love  in  idleness,  I 


354  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

had  not  lost  touch  with  my  art.  But  I  haven't.  I  have 
only  matured  in  mind  and  in  method.  I  am  not  conceited, 
dear  man,  truly  I  am  not;  but  I  am  neither  too  lazy  nor 
too  modest  to  use  my  brains.  What  I  know  I  am  not 
afraid  to  apply.  I've  very  little  theory,  but  a  precious  deal 
of  practice — and  that's  the  way  to  get  on.  Don't  talk 
about  your  ideas — just  use  them  for  all  you're  worth. — 
But  this  is  beside  the  mark.  You're  trying  to  head  me 
off.  Why  didn't  you  come?  " 

"  I  would  gladly  have  come,"  Iglesias  answered.  "  My 
disappointment  has  been  quite  as  great  as  yours." 

"  Bless  your  heart ! "  Poppy  murmured  under  her 
breath. 

"  But  it  was  impossible  for  me  to  come.  I  was  detained 
until  it  was  too  late."  He  paused,  uncertain  how  best  to 
say  that  which  had  to  be  said. 

"  Oh !  fiddle !  "  Poppy  cried,  with  a  lif  t  of  her  head.  "  I 
stand  first.  You  ought  not  to  have  let  yourself  be  de- 
tained. After  all,  it's  not  every  day  someone  you  know 
blazes  from  a  farthing  dip  into  a  star  of  the  first  magni- 
tude. You  might  very  well  have  crowded  other  things 
aside.  I  feel  a  trifle  hurt,  dear  man,  really  I  do." 

"  Believe  me,  no  ordinary  matter  would  have  prevented 
my  coming,"  Iglesias  answered.  To  his  relief  the  carriage 
just  then  turned  into  the  comparative  peace  of  Langham 
Place.  It  became  possible  to  speak  softly.  "  There  was 
a  death  in  the  house  last  night,"  he  went  on,  "  that  of  a 
person  with  whom  I  have  been  rather  closely  associated. 
He  died  under  circumstances  demanding  investigations  of 
a  distressing  character.  No  one  save  myself  was  qualified, 
or  perhaps  willing,  to  assume  the  responsibility  of  calling 
in  the  authorities." 

Iglesias  glanced  at  his  companion,  conscious  that  while 
he  spoke  her  attitude  and  humour  had  altered  considerably. 
She  was  motionless.  He  saw  her  profile,  dark  against  the 


THE     FAR    HORIZON  355 

square  light  of  window-glass.  Her  mouth  was  slightly 
open,  as  with  intensity  of  attention. 

"  Well— well— what  then?  "  she  said. 

"  The  man  had  just  suffered  a  heavy  reverse.  He  had 
staked  all  his  hopes,  all  his  future,  upon  a  single  venture. 
It  proved  a  failure.  He  could  not  accept  the  fact,  and 
believed  himself  the  victim  of  gross  injustice  and  of 
organised  conspiracy." 

"  Do  you  believe  it,  too?  " 

"  No,"  Iglesias  answered.  "  I  have  an  immense  pity  for 
him,  as  who  would  not?  Still,  I  am  compelled  to  believe 
that  failure  came  from  within,  rather  than  from  without. 
He  overrated  his  own  powers." 

Poppy  held  up  her  hand  imperiously.  "Wait  half  a 
minute,"  she  said,  in  an  oddly  harsh  voice.  Leaning  for- 
ward she  put  down  the  front  glass  and  called  to  the  coach- 
man : — "  Don't  go  to  Bletchworth  Mansions.  Drive  on. 
Never  mind  where,  so  long  as  you  keep  to  empty  streets. 
Drive  on  and  on — do  you  hear  ? — till  I  tell  you  to  stop." 

She  put  the  window  up  again  and  settled  herself  back 
in  her  place,  dragging  the  scarf  from  off  her  head  and 
baring  her  throat.  She  looked  full  at  Mr.  Iglesias,  her 
face  showing  ghostly  white  against  the  dark  upholstery 
of  the  carriage.  Her  eyes  were  wide  with  question  and 
with  fear,  which  was  also,  in  some  strange  way,  hope. 

"  Now  you  can  speak,  dear  friend,"  she  said  quite 
steadily.  "  I  shall  be  glad  to  hear  the  whole  of  it,  though 
it  is  an  ugly  story.  The  man  was  miserable,  and  he  is 
dead,  and  the  circumstances  of  his  death  point  to — what — 
suicide?  " 

In  reply  Iglesias  told  her  how  that  morning,  the  servants 
failing  to  get  any  response  to  their  knocking,  the  upper 
part  of  the  house  being,  moreover,  pervaded  by  a  sickening 
smell  of  gas,  help  had  been  called  in;  and,  de  Courcy 
Smyth's  door  being  forced  open,  he  had  been  found  lying, 


356  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

fully  clothed,  stark  and  cold  upon  his  bed,  an  empty  phial 
of  morphia  and  an  empty  glass  on  the  table  beside  him, 
both  gas-jets  turned  full  on  though  not  alight. 

At  the  top  of  Portland  Place  the  coachman  took  his 
way  northwestward,  first  skirting  the  outer  ring  of 
Regent's  Park  and  then  making  the  gradually  ascending 
slope  of  the  Finchley  Road.  The  detached  houses  on 
either  side,  standing  back  in  their  walled  gardens,  were 
mostly  blind.  Only  here  and  there,  behind  drawn  curtains, 
a  window  glowed,  telling  of  intimate  drama  gallant  or 
mournful  within.  The  wide  grey  pavements  were  de- 
serted ;  the  place  arrestingly  quiet,  save  for  the  occasional 
heavy  tread  of  a  passing  policeman  on  beat,  and  the 
rhythmical  trot  of  the  horse.  And  the  Lady  of  the  Wind- 
swept Dust  was  quiet  likewise,  looking  straight  before  her, 
sitting  stiffly  upright,  her  hands  clasped  in  her  lap,  the 
shifting  lights  and  shadows  playing  queerly  over  her  face 
and  her  bare  neck,  causing  her  to  appear  unsubstantial 
and  indefinite  as  a  figure  in  a  dream.  Yet  a  strange 
energy  possessed  her  and  emanated  from  her,  so  that  the 
atmosphere  about  her  was  electric,  oppressive  to  Iglesias 
as  with  a  brooding  of  storm.  Her  very  quietness  was 
agitating,  weighed  with  meaning  which  challenged  his 
imagination  and  even  his  powers  of  reticence  and  self-con- 
trol. Opposite  Swiss  Cottage  Station,  where  the  main  road 
forks,  a  string  of  market  waggons — slouching,  drowsy  car- 
men, backed  by  a  pale  green  wall  of  glistening  cabbages, 
nodding  above  their  slow-moving  teams — passed,  with  a 
jingle  of  brass-mounted  harness  and  grind  of  wheels.  This 
roused  Poppy,  and  the  storm  broke. 

"  Dominic,"  she  said  breathlessly,  "  do  you  at  all  know 
what  you've  just  told  me  means  to  me?  " 

"  I  have  never  known  positively  until  now ;  but  it  was 
impossible  that  I  should  not  have  entertained  suspicions." 

"  Did  he — you  know  who  I  mean — ever  speak  of  me  ?  " 


THE     FAR    HORIZON  357 

- 

"  I  think,"  Iglesias  said,  "  he  came  very  near  doing  so, 
more  than  once.  But  I  put  a  stop  to  the  conversation." 

"  You  frightened  him,"  Poppy  rejoined.  "  I  know  one 
could  do  that.  It  was  a  last  resource,  a  hateful  one.  Is 
there  anything  so  difficult  to  forgive  as  being  driven  to  be 
cruel?  One  was  bound  to  be  cruel  in  self-defence,  or  one 
would  have  been  stifled,  utterly  degraded  by  self-contempt, 
bled  to  death  not  only  in  respect  of  money  but  of  self- 
esteem." 

She  threw  up  her  hands  with  a  gesture  at  once  fierce 
and  despairing. 

"  Oh !  the  weak,  the  weak,"  she  cried,  "  of  how  many 
crimes  they  are  the  authors !  Crimes  more  particularly 
abominable  when  the  weak  one  is  the  man,  and  woman — 
poor  brute — is  strong." 

She  settled  herself  sideways  in  the  corner  of  the  car- 
riage, turning  her  face  once  more  full  upon  her  companion. 

"  Look  here,"  she  said,  "  I  don't  want  to  whitewash 
myself.  What  I've  done  I've  done.  I  don't  pretend  it's 
pretty  or  innocent,  or  that  I  haven't  jolly  well  got  to  pay 
the  price  of  it — though  I  think  a  good  deal  has  been  paid 
by  now.  But  it  seems  to  me  my  real  crime  was  in  marrying 
him,  rather  than  in  leaving  him.  It  was  a  crime  against 
love — love,  which  alone,  if  you've  any  real  sense  of  the 
inherent  decencies  of  things,  makes  marriage  otherwise 
than  an  outrage  upon  a  woman's  pride  and  her  virtue. 
But,  then,  one  doesn't  know  all  that  when  one's  barely  out 
of  one's  teens.  And,  you  see,  like  a  fool  I  took  the  first 
comer  out  of  bravado,  just  that  people  mightn't  see  how 
awfully  hard  hit  I  was  by  his  people  interfering  and  pre- 
venting my  marrying  the  poor,  dear  boy  who  gave  me  this  " 
— Poppy  spread  out  the  end  of  her  dragon  scarf-  "  I've 
told  you  about  him.— Stage  people  are  absurdly  simple  in 
some  ways,  you  know.  They  live  in  such  a  world  of  pre- 
tences and  fictions  that  they  lose  their  sense  of  fact,  or 


358  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

rather  they  never  develop  it.  They're  awfully  easily  taken 
in.  Words  go  a  tremendous  long  way  with  them.  And 
de  Courcy  could  talk.  He  was  appallingly  fluent,  specially 
on  the  subject  of  himself.  He  made  me  believe  he  was 
rather  wonderful,  and  I  wanted  to  believe  he  was  wonderful. 
I  wanted  to  believe  he  was  all  the  geniuses  in  creation 
rolled  into  one.  All  the  more  I  wanted  to  believe  it  be- 
cause I  wasn't  one  scrap  in  love  with  him." 

Poppy  beat  with  one  hand  almost  roughly  on  Mr. 
Iglesias'  arm. 

"  Do  you  see,  do  you  see,  do  you  see  ?  "  she  repeated. 
"Do  you  understand?  I  want  you  so  badly  to  under- 
stand." 

And  he  answered  her  gently  and  gravely :  "  Do  not 
be  afraid,  dear  friend.  I  see  with  your  eyes.  I  feel  with 
your  heart.  As  far  as  one  human  being  can  enter  into 
and  share  the  experience  of  another,  I  do  understand." 

"  But  the  nuisance  is,"  she  went  on,  the  corners  of  her 
mouth  taking  a  wicked  twist,  "  you  know  so  very  much 
more  about  a  man  after  you've  married  him.  Other  people 
are  inclined  to  forget  that  sometimes.  Consuming  egoism 
is  hideous  at  close  quarters.  It  comes  out  in  a  thousand 
ways,  in  mean  little  tyrannies  and  absurd  jealousies  which 
would  never  have  entered  into  one's  head. — I  don't  want  to 
go  into  all  that.  It's  better  forgot. — Only  they  piled  up 
and  up,  till  the  shadow  of  them  shut  out  the  sunshine ;  and 
I  got  so  bored,  so  madly  and  intolerably  bored.  You  see, 
I  had  tried  to  believe  in  him  at  first.  In  self-defence  I 
had  done  so,  and  stood  by  him,  and  done  my  very  best  to 
put  him  through.  But  when  I  began  to  understand  that 
there  was  nothing  to  stand  by  or  put  through,  that  his 
talent  was  not  talent  at  all,  but  merely  a  vain  man's  long- 
ing to  possess  talent — well,  the  situation  became  pretty 
bad.  I  tried  to  be  civil.  I  tried  to  hold  my  tongue, 
indeed  I  did.  But  to  be  bullied  and  grumbled  at,  and 


THE     FAR    HORIZON  359 

f 

expected  to  work,  so  as  to  give  him  leisure  and  means  for 
the  development  of  gifts  which  didn't  exist — it  wasn't 
good  enough." 

Poppy  put  up  her  hands  and  pushed  the  masses  of  her 
hair  from  her  forehead.  And  all  the  while  the  shifting 
lights  and  shadows  played  over  her  white  face  and  bare 
neck,  and  the  horse  trotted  on,  past  closed  shops  and  cur- 
tained windows,  farther  out  of  London  and  into  the  night. 

"  He  didn't  do  anything  which  the  world  calls  vicious," 
she  continued  presently.  A  great  dreariness  had  come 
into  the  tones  of  her  voice.  "  He  was  faithful  to  me,  as 
the  world  counts  faithfulness,  simply  because  he  didn't 
care  for  women — except  for  philandering  with  sentimental 
sillies  who  thought  him  an  unappreciated  eighth  wonder 
of  the  world,  and  pawed  over  and  pitied  him.  La !  la !  the 
mere  thought  of  it  makes  me  sick !  But  he  was  too  much 
in  love  with  himself  to  be  capable  of  even  an  animal  pas- 
sion for  anybody  else.  And  he  made  a  great  point  of  his 
virtue.  I  heard  a  lot  about  it — oh !  a  lot !  " 

For  a  minute  or  two  Poppy  sat  silent.  Then  she  turned 
to  Mr.  Iglesias,  smiling,  as  those  smile  who  refuse  submis- 
sion to  some  cruel  pain. 

"  I  wasn't  born  bad,  dear  man,"  she  said,  "  and  I  held 
out  longer  than  most  women  in  my  profession  would,  where 
morals  are  easy  and  it's  lightly  come  and  lightly  go  in 
respect  of  lovers  and  love.  But  one  fine  day  I  packed  up 
my  traps  and  cleared  out.  He'd  been  whining  for  years, 
and  some  little  thing  he  said  or  did — I  really  forget  exactly 
what — raised  Cain  in  me,  and  I  thought  I'd  jolly  well 
give  him  something  to  whine  about.  I  knew  perfectly  well 
he  wouldn't  divorce  me.  He  wanted  me  too  much,  at  the 
end  of  a  string,  to  torment,  and  to  get  money  from  when 
times  were  bad.  Not  that  I  cared  for  a  divorce.  I  con- 
sider it  the  clumsiest  invention  out  for  setting  wrongs 
right.  I  have  too  great  a  respect  for  marriage,  which 


360  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

ought,  if  it  means  anything,  to  mean  motherhood  and  chil- 
dren, and  a  clean,  wholesome  start  in  life  for  the  second 
generation.  When  a  woman  breaks  away  and  crosses  the 
lines,  she  only  makes  bad  worse,  in  my  opinion,  by  the 
hypocritical  respectability  of  a  marriage  while  her  hus- 
band is  still  alive.  Let's  be  honest  sinners  any  way,  if 
sin  we  must." 

Again  she  paused,  looking  backward  in  thought,  seeing 
and  hearing  things  which,  for  the  honour  of  others,  it 
was  kindest  not  to  repeat.  The  carriage  moved  slowly, 
the  horse  slackening  its  pace  in  climbing  the  last  steep 
piece  of  hill  which  leads  to  the  pond  on  Hampstead  Heath. 

"  And  now  it's  over,"  Poppy  said,  letting  her  hands 
drop  in  her  lap.  "  Done  with.  The  poor  wretched  thing's 
dead — has  killed  himself.  That  is  a  fitting  conclusion. 
He  was  always  his  own  worst  enemy. — Well,  as  far  as  I  am 
concerned,  let  him  rest  in  peace." 

"  Amen,"  Iglesias  responded,  "  so  let  him  rest.  *  Shall 
not  the  judge  of  all  the  world  do  right,'  counting  his 
merits  as  well  as  his  demerits,  making  all  just  excuses  for 
his  lapses  and  wrong-doings ;  knowing,  as  we  can  never 
know,  exactly  how  far  he  was  and  was  not  accountable  for 
his  own  and  for  others'  sins.  And  now,  dear  friend,  as 
you  have  said,  this  long  misery  is  over  and  done  with. 
Whatever  remains  of  practical  business  you  can  leave 
safely  to  me.  His  memory  shall  be  shielded  as  far  as  fore- 
sight and  sympathy  can  shield  it,  and  your  name  need  not 
appear." 

The  Lady  of  the  Windswept  Dust  took  his  hand  and 
held  it. 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  said  brokenly,  "  why  all  this  should 
come  upon  you." 

"  For  a  very  simple  reason,"  he  answered.  "  What  did 
you  tell  me  yourself  ?  You  stand  first.  And  that  is  true." 

But  it  may  be  remarked  in  passing  that  there  are  limits 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  361 

to  the  passive  obedience  of  even  the  best-trained  of  men- 
servants.  Those  of  Poppy's  coachman  had  been  reached. 
At  the  top  of  the  hill  he  drew  up,  vigorously  determined 
to  drive  no  farther  into  the  wilderness,  without  renewed  and 
very  distinct  information  as  to  why  and  where  he  went. 
Perceiving  which  Dominic  Iglesias  opened  the  carriage 
door  and  stepped  out. 

"  The  night  is  fine  and  dry,"  he  said.  "  Let  us  walk  a 
little,  and  then  let  us  drive  home.  You  have  your  work 
to-morrow — or,  rather,  to-day — and  you  must  have  a  rea- 
sonable amount  of  rest  first.  The  stream  of  your  life  has 
been  arrested,  diverted  from  its  natural  channel;  but  it 
still  runs  strong  and  clear  yet.  You  have  genius,  real,  not 
imagined,  so  you  must  husband  your  energies. — Come  and 
walk.  Let  the  air  soothe  and  calm  you ;  and  then,  leaving 
all  the  past  in  Almighty  God's  safe  keeping,  go  home  and 
rest." 

Here  the  high-road  stretches  along  the  ridge  of  the  hill, 
a  giant  causeway,  the  broken  land  of  the  open  heath  fall- 
ing away  sharply  to  left  and  right.  It  was  windless. 
The  sky  was  covered,  and  the  atmosphere,  though  not 
foggy  at  this  height,  was  thick  as  with  smoke ;  so  that  the 
road,  with  its  long  avenue  of  sparse-set  lamps — dwindling 
in  the  extreme  distance  to  faintest  sparks — was  as  a  pale 
bridge  thrown  across  the  void  of  black  unsounded  space. 
All,  save  the  road  itself,  the  lamps,  and  seats,  and  broken 
fringe  of  grass  edging  the  raised  footpath  of  it,  was  form- 
less and  vague,  peopled  by  shapes,  dark  against  darkness, 
such  as  the  eye  itself  fearfully  produces  in  straining  to 
penetrate  unyielding  obscurity.  The  effect  was  one  of  in- 
tense isolation,  of  divorce  from  humanity  and  the  works 
and  ways  of  it,  so  present  and  overpowering  it  might  well 
seem  that,  reaching  the  far  end  of  that  pale  bridge,  the 
wayfarer  would  part  company  with  the  things  of  time  al- 
together and  pass  into  another  state  of  being. 


362  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

And  this  so  worked  upon  Poppy  that,  some  fifty  yards 
along  the  causeway,  her  black  and  silver  skirts  gathered 
ankle-high  about  her,  she  stopped,  drawing  very  close  to 
Iglesias  and  laying  her  hand  upon  his  arm. 

"  Listen  to  the  silence,"  she  said.  "  Look  at  the  empti- 
ness. I  don't  quite  like  it,  even  with  you.  It's  too  sug- 
gestive of  death,  death  with  no  sure  hope  of  life  beyond  it. 
— I  am  quite  good  now,  quite  sane  and  reasonable.  I  have 
put  aside  all  bitterness.  I'll  never  say  another  hard  word 
of  him,  or,  in  as  far  as  I  can,  think  a  hard  thought." 

Then  turning,  suddenly  she  gave  a  cry,  perceiving  that 
east  and  south  all  London  lay  below  them — formless,  too, 
indefinite,  enormous,  a  City  of  the  Plains,  unseen  in  detail 
but  indicated  through  the  gloom  as  a  vast  semi-circle  of 
smouldering  fire. 

Poppy  stretched  out  both  arms,  letting  her  splendid 
draperies  trail  in  the  dust. 

"  Ah !  how  I  love  it,  how  I  love  it,"  she  cried.  "  Let  us 
go  back,  dear  man.  For  it  belongs  to  me  and  I  belong  to 
it.  In  the  name  of  my  art  I  must  try  conclusions  with  it. 
I  must  play  to  it,  and  conquer  it,  and  enchant,  and  possess 
it,  since  I  am  free  at  last — I  am  free." 


CHAPTER    XXXVII 

SERENA'S  manner,  though  gracious,  was  lofty,  almost 
regal.  She  had,  indeed,  lately  looked  upon  crowned  heads, 
and  the  glory  of  them  seemed,  somehow,  to  have  rubbed  off 
on  her. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  I  came  up  for  the  Queen's  funeral. 
Lady  Samuelson  felt  it  was  a  thing  I  ought  not  to  miss, 
and  I  agreed  with  her.  It  was  inconvenient  to  leave  home, 
because  I  had  a  number  of  engagements.  Still,  I  felt  I 
might  regret  it  afterwards  if  I  did  not  see  it.  And  then, 
of  course,  Lady  Samuelson  was  so  kind  the  year  before 
last,  when  I  had  so  very  much  to  worry  me,  that  I  feel  I 
owe  it  to  her  to  stay  with  her  whenever  she  asks  me  to  do 
so.  Where  did  you  see  the  procession  from,  Rhoda  ?  " 

"  Well,  on  the  whole  I  thought  it  better  to  remain  at 
home,"  Mrs.  Lovegrove  confessed,  "  though  Georgie  was 
most  pressing  I  should  go  with  him.  You  are  slender, 
Serena,  and  that  makes  a  great  deal  of  difference  in  going 
about.  But  I  find  crowds  and  excitement  very  trying. 
And  then  it  must  all  have  been  very  affecting  and  solemn. 
I  doubted  if  I  could  witness  it  without  giving  way  too  much 
and  troubling  others.  It  is  mortifying  to  feel  you  are 
spoiling  the  pleasure  of  those  that  are  with  you,  and  I 
wanted  poor  Georgie  to  enjoy  himself  as  much  as  he 
could." 

"  In  that  case  it  was  certainly  better  to  remain  at  home," 
Serena  rejoined.  "I  have  my  feelings  very  much  under 
control.  Even  when  I  was  quite  a  child  that  used  to  be 
said  of  me.  It  used  to  irritate  Susan." 

"  Susan  has  a  more  impetuous  nature,"  Mrs.  Lovegrove 
observed.  The  day  of  domestic  eclipse  was  happily  passed. 

363 


36*  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

She  had  come  into  her  own  again ;  consequently  she  was 
disposed  to  be  slightly  argumentative,  sitting  here  upon 
her  own  Chesterfield  sofa  in  her  own  drawing-room,  even 
with  Serena. 

"  I  wonder  if  she  has — I  mean  I  wonder  whether  Susan 
really  has  a  more  impetuous  nature,"  the  latter  rejoined, 
"  or  whether  she  is  only  more  wanting  in  self-control.  I 
often  think  people  get  credit  for  strong  feelings,  when  it 
is  only  that  they  make  no  effort  to  control  themselves. 
And  that  is  unfair.  I  never  have  been  able  to  see  why  it 
was  considered  so  creditable  to  have  strong  feelings.  They 
usually  give  a  lot  of  inconvenience  to  other  people.  I  am 
not  sure  that  it  is  not  self-indulgent  to  have  strong  feel- 
ings.— We  had  excellent  places  just  opposite  the  Marble 
Arch.  Of  course  Lady  Samuelson  has  a  great  deal  of 
interest;  and  we  saw  everything.  In  some  ways  I  think, 
as  a  sight,  the  procession  was  overrated.  But  I  am  glad 
I  went.  You  can  never  tell  whether  anything  is  worth 
seeing  or  not  until  you  have  seen  it;  and  so  I  certainly 
might  have  regretted  if  I  had  not  gone.  Still,  I  think 
you  were  quite  wise  in  not  going,  Rhoda,  if  you  were 
likely  to  be  upset;  and  then,  as  you  say,  it  must  be  un- 
pleasant getting  about  if  one  is  very  stout.  Of  course, 
I  cannot  really  enter  into  that.  I  take  after  mamma's 
family.  They  are  always  slender.  But  the  Lovegroves 
often  grow  stout.  George,  of  course,  has,  and  I  should 
not  be  surprised  if  Susan  did  when  she  is  older.  But  then 
Susan  and  I  are  entirely  different  in  almost  everything." 

"  I  suppose  you  have  heard  of  our  dear  vicar  being  ap- 
pointed to  the  new  bishopric  of  Slowby,  Serena,"  Mrs. 
Lovegrove  remarked.  The  amplitude,  or  non-amplitude, 
of  the  family  figure  was  beginning  to  get  upon  her  nerves. 

"  Oh !  dear,  yes,  of  course  I  have,"  Serena  answered 
with  raised  eyebrows  and  a  condescending  expression  of 
countenance.  "  Not  that  it  will  make  very  much  differ- 


THE    PAR    HORIZON 

••••-...v     -    -• 

ence  to  me,  I  suppose.  I  am  so  little  at  home  now.  But 
naturally  people,  hearing  we  knew  the  Nevingtons,  came  to 
us  for  information  about  them.  I  don't  think  anybody 
had  ever  heard  of  Dr.  Nevington  at  Slowby,  and  so  they 
were  very  glad  to  learn  anything  we  could  tell  them.  Of 
course  it  is  a  very  great  rise  for  Dr.  Nevington,  though  he 
will  only  be  a  suffragan  bishop.  Still,  he  must  be  very 
much  flattered,  after  merely  having  a  parish  of  this  kind. 
Susan  is  very  pleased  at  the  appointment.  She  wrote  to 
Dr.  Nevington  immediately  and  has  had  a  number  of  letters 
from  him.  I  was  quite  willing  she  should  write,  but  she 
told  him  how  popular  his  appointment  was  in  Midlandshire. 
And  I  thought  that  was  going  rather  far,  because  Susan 
has  no  real  means  of  knowing  whether  it  is  popular  or  not. 
She  could  only  know  that  she  thought  she  liked  it  herself, 
and  had  praised  him  among  her  friends.  And  I  wonder 
whether  she  is  right — I  mean  I  wonder  whether  she  really 
will  like  it.  Of  course  Susan  has  been  very  prominent  and 
has  had  everything  her  own  way  with  most  of  the  clergy- 
men's wives  in  Slowby.  I  think  that  has  been  rather  bad 
for  Susan  and  given  her  an  undue  idea  of  her  own  im- 
portance. Now  naturally  Mrs.  Nevington  will  be  the 
head  of  everything  and  the  clergymen's  wives  will  go  for 
advice  to  her.  I  do  not  see  how  Susan  can  help  disliking 
that.  And  then  Mrs.  Nevington  is  said  to  be  a  very  good 
public  speaker.  I  am  perfectly  certain  Susan  will  dislike 
that.  For  I  always  observe  that  people  who  speak  a  great 
deal  themselves,  like  Susan,  never  get  on  well  with  other 
good  speakers." — She  moved  a  little,  throwing  back  the 
fronts  of  her  black  beaded  jacket— her  complimentary 
mourning  was  scrupulously  correct — and  adjusting  the 
black  silk  tie  at  her  throat.  "  Of  course  I  may  be  mis- 
taken," she  added,  "  but  if  you  ask  me,  Rhoda,  I  fancy 
you  will  find  that  Susan  and  Mrs.  Nevington  will  not  re- 
main friends  for  very  long." 


366  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

"  I  am  distressed  to  hear  you  express  such  an  opinion, 
Serena,"  Mrs.  Lovegrove  returned.  The  tone  of  mingled 
patronage  and  possession  in  which  her  guest  spoke  of  her 
own  two  particular  sacred  totems,  vicar  and  vicaress,  in- 
censed her  highly.  She  wished  she  had  not  introduced  the 
subject  of  the  Slowby  bishopric. — "When  the  object  in 
view  is  a  truly  good  one,"  she  added,  with  some  severity, 
"  I  should  suppose  all  right-meaning  people  would  strive 
to  sink  petty  rivalries  and  cooperate.  I  should  quite  be- 
lieve it  would  prove  so  in  Susan's  case." 

"  Of  course  she  would  not  give  Mrs.  Nevington's  speak- 
ing well  as  her  reason,  if  they  did  not  remain  on  friendly 
terms,"  Serena  returned  negligently.  "  But  then  people 
so  very  seldom  give  their  real  reasons  for  what  they  do, 
Rhoda.  Surely  you  must  have  observed  that.  I  think 
they  are  generally  very  willing  to  deceive  themselves  a 
good  deal." 

"  I  am  afraid  it  is  so  with  too  many,  Serena,  and  with 
some  who  would  be  the  last  to  own  it  when  applied  to 
themselves." — Then  the  wife  determined  by  a  piece 
of  daring  strategy  to  carry  the  war  into  the  enemy's 
country. — "  And  that  reminds  me,"  she  said.  "  I  sup- 
pose you  have  heard  that  Mr.  Iglesias  has  left  Trimmer's 
Green?" 

"  I  do  not  the  least  know  what  right  you  have  to  sup- 
pose anything  of  the  kind,  Rhoda,"  the  lady  addressed 
replied  with  a  haste  and  asperity  far  from  regal.  "  You 
must  have  very  odd  ideas  of  the  people  I  meet,  either  at 
Lady  Samuelson's  or  at  Slowby,  if  you  imagine  I  am  likely 
to  hear  anything  about  Mr.  Iglesias  from  them.  If  I 
had  not  met  him  here,  of  course,  I  should  never  have  heard 
of  him  at  all;  and  if  I  had  never  heard  of  him  I  should 
have  been  spared  a  great  deal.  Still,  after  all  that  has 
occurred,  I  can  quite  see  that  Mr.  Iglesias  might  find  it 
better  to  leave  Trimmer's  Green." 


THE     FAR    HORIZON  367 

jf 

"  Miss  Eliza  Hart,  if  you  please,  ma'am,"  this  from  the 
house-parlourmaid. 

In  accordance  with  established  precedent,  Serena  should 
have  risen  from  the  place  of  honour,  upon  the  sofa,  mak- 
ing room  for  the  newcomer.  But  she  defied  precedent. 
Acknowledging  the  said  newcomer  with  the  stiffest  of 
bows,  she  sat  tight.  Her  hostess,  however,  proved  equal 
to  the  occasion. 

"  Dear  me,  Miss  Hart,"  she  began,  "  I  am  sure  you  are 
quite  the  stranger.  Take  that  chair,  will  you  not?  And 
how  is  Mrs.  Porcher?  The  numbers,  I  trust,  filling  up 
again  at  Cedar  Lodge?  Mr.  Lovegrove  and  myself  did 
truly  sympathise  in  Mrs.  Porcher's  trouble  in  the  autumn. 
Such  a  terrible  occurrence  to  have  in  your  house!  Of 
course  very  damaging,  for  a  time,  to  all  prospects.  And 
I  shall  always  believe  it  was  the  great  exertions  he  made 
then  that  broke  down  poor  Mr.  Iglesias'  health. — Yes, 
indeed,  Miss  Hart,  I  regret  to  say  he  does  remain  very 
ailing.  Mr.  Lovegrove  sees  him  almost  daily.  He  has 
run  round  to  Holland  Street  now,  has  Georgie ;  but  I  expect 
him  back  any  minute. — We  were  just  speaking  of  Mr. 
Iglesias — were  we  not,  Serena? — and  I  was  about  to  tell 
Miss  Lovegrove  what  a  sweet  pretty  house  he  has.  You 
have  seen  it  often  no  doubt,  Miss  Hart." 

But  here  Serena  arose,  with  much  dignity,  and  retired 
in  the  direction  of  the  window. 

"  Pray  do  not  think  about  me,  Rhoda,"  she  said  over 
her  shoulder,  "  or  let  me  interrupt  your  and  your  friend's 
conversation.  I  am  going  to  see  if  the  carriage  is  here. 
Lady  Samuelson  said  she  might  be  able  to  send  it  for  me. 
She  could  not  be  sure,  but  she  might.  And  I  told  her  I 
would  be  on  the  watch,  as  she  objects  to  the  horses  being 
kept  standing  in  this  weather.  But  pray  do  not  think 
about  me.  Until  it  comes  I  can  quite  well  amuse  myself." 

Holding  aside  the  lace  curtain  she  looked  out.     Upon 


368  THE     FAR    HORIZON 

the  rawly  green  grass  remnants  of  discoloured  snow  lay  in 
unsightly  patches,  while  the  bare  branches  of  the  plane- 
trees  and  balsam-poplars  shuddered  in  the  harsh  blast. 
The  prospect  was  far  from  alluring,  and  Serena  surveyed 
it  with  a  wrathful  eye. 

"  Really,  Rhoda's  behaviour  to  me  is  most  extraor- 
dinary," she  said  to  herself.  "  I  had  to  mark  my  dis- 
pleasure. For  poor  George's  sake  she  ought  not  to  be 
allowed  to  go  too  far.  She  has  grown  so  very  self-asser- 
tive. Last  year  her  manner  was  much  better.  I  suppose 
she  and  George  have  made  it  up  again.  People  who  are 
not  really  ladies,  like  Rhoda,  are  always  so  very  much 
nicer  when  they  are  depressed.  I  wonder  what  has  hap- 
pened to  make  George  make  it  up  with  her ! " 

And  then  she  fell  very  furiously  to  listening. 

"  We  did  talk  it  over,  did  Peachie  Porcher  and  myself," 
the  great  Eliza  was  saying,  "  for  I  do  not  deny,  at  the 
time  of  our  trouble,  a  certain  gentleman  came  out  very 
well.  He  may  have  had  his  reasons,  but  I  will  not  go  into 
that,  Mrs.  Lovegrove.  I  am  all  for  giving  everybody  his 
due.  But  Peachie  felt  when  he  left  it  would  be  better 
the  connection  should  cease  as  far  as  visiting  went. 
*  Should  Mr.  Iglesias  call  here,  dear  Liz,'  she  said  to  me, 
'  I  should  not  refuse  to  see  him.  But,  after  what  has 
passed  and  situated  as  I  am,  I  cannot  be  too  careful.  And 
calling  on  a  bachelor  living  privately,  with  whom  your 
name  has  been  at  all  associated,  must  invite  comment. 
Throughout  all,'  she  said,  '  my  conscience  tells  me  I  have 
done  my  duty,  and  in  that  I  must  find  my  reward.'  Very 
affecting,  was  it  not  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  the  other  lady  admitted,  candour  and  natural 
goodness  of  heart  getting  the  better  alike  of  resentment 
and  diplomacy.  "  I  always  have  maintained  there  were 
many  sterling  qualities  in  Mrs.  Porcher." 

"  So  there  are,  the  sweet  pet ! "  Eliza  responded  warmly. 


THE    FAR     HORIZON 

- 

"And  I  sometimes  question,  Mrs.  Lovegrove,  whether  a 
certain  gentleman,  now  that  he  has  cut  himself  adrift 
from  her,  may  not  be  beginning  to  find  that  out  and  wish 
he  had  been  less  stand-offish  and  stony.  Not  that  it  would 
be  any  use  now.  For,  if  he  did  not  appreciate  Peachie 
Porcher,  there  are  other  and  younger  gentlemen,  not  a 
thousand  miles  from  here,  who  do.  I  am  not  at  liberty  to 
speak  more  plainly  at  present,  as  the  poor  young  fellow 
is  very  shy  about  his  secret.  A  long  attachment,  and 
some  might  think  it  rather  derogatory  to  Peachie's  posi- 
tion to  entertain  it.  But  straws  tell  which  way  the  wind 
blows ;  and  a  little  bird  seems  to  twitter  to  me,  Mrs.  Love- 
grove,  that  if  Charlie  Farge  did  come  to  the  point — 
why- " 

Miss  Hart  shook  her  leonine  mane  and  laid  her  finger 
on  her  lip  in  an  arch  and  playful  manner.  But  before 
her  hostess  could  rally  sufficiently  from  the  stupor  into 
which  this  announcement  plunged  her  to  make  suitable 
rejoinder,  a  fine  booming  clerical  voice  and  large  clerical 
presence  invaded  the  room. 

"  How  d'ye  do,  Mrs.  Lovegrove?  I  come  unannounced 
but  not  unsanctioned.  I  met  with  your  good  husband  in 
the  street  just  now,  and  he  encouraged  me  to  look  in  on 
you.  Good-day  to  you,  Miss  Hart.  All  is  well,  I  trust, 
with  our  excellent  friend  Mrs.  Porcher. — Ah!  and  here  is 
Miss  Serena  Lovegrove. — An  unexpected  piece  of  good 
fortune." 

Promptly  Serena  had  emerged  from  her  self-imposed 
exile;  and  it  was  with  an  air  of  assured  proprietorship 
that  she  greeted  the  clergyman. 

"  Mrs.  Nevington  heard  from  your  kind  sister  only  this 
morning,"  he  continued.  "  Full  of  active  helpfulness  as 
usual,  Mrs.  Lovegrove. — She  proposes  that  we  should 
quarter  ourselves  upon  you  and  her  for  a  few  days,  Miss 
Serena,  while  we  are  seeking  a  temporary  residence.  She 


370  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

kindly  gives  us  the  names  of  several  houses  which  she 
considers  worth  inspection." 

Here  by  an  adroit  flank  movement,  rapidly  executed, 
Serena  managed  to  possess  herself  once  again  of  the  seat 
of  honour  upon  the  sofa,  thereby  interposing  a  thin  but 
impenetrable  barrier  between  her  hostess  and  the  latter's 
own  particular  fetish,  the  bishop-designate. 

"  You  have  enough  room  ?  I  do  not  crowd  you, 
Rhoda?"  she  remarked  parenthetically.  Then  turning 
sideways,  so  as  to  present  an  expanse  of  neatly  clad  back 
and  shoulder  to  her  outraged  relative,  she  continued: — 
"  I  wonder  which,  Dr.  Nevington — I  mean  I  wonder  which 
houses  Susan  has  recommended.  Of  course  there  is  the 
Priory.  But  nobody  has  lived  in  it  for  ages  and  ages. 
It  is  in  a  very  low  neighbourhood,  close  to  the  canal  and 
brickfields  on  the  Tullingworth  Road.  I  should  think  it 
was  dreadfully  damp  and  unwholesome.  And  there  is  old 
Mrs.  Waghorn's  in  Abney  Park.  That  is  well  situated 
and  the  grounds  are  rather  nice.  But  the  reception-rooms 
are  poor,  I  always  think.  Susan  was  fond  of  Mrs.  Wag- 
horn.  I  cannot  say  I  ever  cared  for  her  myself ;  but  there 
is  a  tower  to  it,  of  course." 

"  Ah !  we  hardly  need  towers  yet,  Miss  Lovegrove.  A 
4  suffering  bishop' — you  recall  the  well-worn  joke? — such 
as  myself,  must  not  aspire  to  anything  approaching  castles 
or  palaces,  but  be  content  with  a  very  modest  place  of 
residence." 

Here  his  unhappy  hostess,  sitting  quite  perilously  near 
the  edge  of  the  sofa,  craned  round  the  interposing  barrier. 

"  But  that  is  only  a  matter  of  time,  Dr.  Nevington," 
she  said,  "  surely.  There  is  but  one  voice  all  round  the 
Green,  and  through  the  parish  generally,  that  this  is  but 
the  first  step  for  you ;  and  that  it  will  lead  on — though  I 
am  far  from  wishing  to  hasten  the  death  of  the  present 
archbishop — to  the  primacy." 


THE    FAR    HORIZON  371 

"  Hardly  that,  hardly  that,"  he  rejoined  with  becoming 
modesty.  Yet  the  speech  was  not  unpalatable  to  him. 
"  Out  of  the  mouth  of  babes,"  he  said  to  himself,  leaning 
back  in  his  chair,  and  eyeing — in  imagination — the  chaste 
outline  of  an  episcopal  apron  and  well-cut  black  gaiter, 
while  visions  of  Lambeth  and  Canterbury  floated  entic- 
ingly before  him. — "Hardly  that.  This  is  little  more 
than  an  embryo  bishopric.  Still,  though  it  is  a  wrench 
to  leave  my  dear  old  congregation,  here  in  this  wonderful 
London  of  ours,  I  cannot  refuse  the  call  to  a  wider  sphere 
of  usefulness.  My  views  as  a  churchman  are  well  known. 
I  have  never,  even  though  it  might  have  been  profession- 
ally advantageous  to  me  to  do  so,  attempted  any  con- 
cealment." 

"  No,  truly,"  Rhoda  put  in,  still  balancing  and  cran- 
ing. "  Everyone,  I  am  sure,  must  bear  witness  you  have 
always  been  most  nobly  outspoken." 

"  I  trust  so,"  he  returned.  "  I  have  never  disguised 
the  fact  that  I  take  my  stand  upon  the  Reformation  Set- 
tlement. Therefore  I  cannot  but  think  it  a  most  hopeful 
sign  of  the  times  that  I  should  receive  this  call  to  the 
episcopate. — Ah,  here  is  Lovegrove.  You  find  us  deep  in 
matters  ecclesiastical.  I  only  hope  I  am  not  taxing  your 
ladies'  patience  too  heavily  by  talking  on  such  serious 
subjects. — In  Slowby  itself  that  grand  old  stalwart,  the 
late  Dr.  Colthurst — a  positively  Cromwellian  figure — has 
left  a  sound  Protestant  tradition.  But  I  hear — your  good 
sister  confirms  the  rumour,  Miss  Serena — that  there  is  a 
strong  ritualistic  party  at  Tullingworth.  I  shall  deal 
very  roundly  with  persons  of  that  persuasion.  My  con- 
viction is  that  we  must  suit  our  teaching  to  the  progressive 
spirit  of  this  modern  world  of  ours.  Personally  I  am  will- 
ing, if  necessary,  to  sacrifice  very  much  so-called  dogma 
to  conciliate  our  worthy  Nonconformist  brethren ;  while  I 
shall  lose  no  opportunity  of  cutting  at  the  roots  of  those 


372  THE     FAR    HORIZON 

Romanising  tendencies  which  are  so  lamentably  and  insidi- 
ously active  in  the  very  heart  of  our  dear  old  National 
Church." 

While  the  great  drum-like  voice  was  thus  rolling  and 
booming,  George  Lovegrove  had  shaken  hands  with 
Serena.  But  there  was  none  of  the  accustomed  respectful 
enthusiasm  in  his  greeting.  He  wore  a  preoccupied  and 
dejected  air.  For  once  he  looked  upon  that  pearl  of 
spinsterhood  with  a  lack-lustre  and  indifferent  eye. 

"  I  wonder  what  can  have  happened  to  George,"  the 
lady  in  question  said  to  herself,  in  high  displeasure.  "I 
think  his  manner  is  really  very  odd — nearly  as  odd  as 
Rhoda's.  I  wish  I  had  not  come.  But  then  if  I  had  not 
come  I  should  have  had  no  opportunity  of  showing  Rhoda 
what  intimate  terms  Susan  and  I  are  upon  with  the 
Nevingtons.  And  I  think  it  is  right  she  should  know. — 
Oh!  that  detestable  Miss  Hart  is  going.  What  a  dread- 
fully vulgar  purple  blouse  she  has  on !  And  her  hair  is  so 
unpleasant.  It  always  looks  damp  and  shows  the  marks 
of  the  comb.  I  wonder  why  hair  of  that  particular  col- 
our always  does  look  damp."  Here  she  bowed  stiffly  with- 
out rising. — "  I  shall  simply  ignore  George,  and  not  speak 
to  him.  I  think  that  will  be  sufficiently  marked.  But  I 
shall  stay  as  long  as  Dr.  Nevington  does — I  don't  for  one 
moment  believe  Miranda  Samuelson  really  intended  to  send 
the  carriage — so  I  will  just  wait  and  go  when  he  goes. 
I  think  I  owe  it  to  myself  to  show  George  and  Rhoda  that 
they  cannot  drive  me  away  against  my  will,  however  much 
they  may  wish  to  do  so." 

Having  come  to  which  amiable  decision  Serena  turned 
her  mind  and  conversation  to  questions  of  house-hunting 
in  Slowby.  The  subject,  however,  began  to  pall,  before 
long,  upon  her  companion.  Dr.  Nevington  changed  his 
position  more  than  once.  His  replies  became  vague  and 
perfunctory,  while  his  attention  evidently  strayed  to 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  373 

the  conversation  taking  place  at  the  other  end  of  the 
sofa. 

"  I  fear  you  did  not  find  Mr.  Iglesias  very  bright  then 
to-day?  "  the  wife  was  inquiring  in  her  kindliest  tones. 

George  Lovegrove  shook  his  head  sadly.  "  No,  my 
dear,  I  am  sorry  to  say  not.  I  have  been  rather  broken 
up.  I  will  tell  you  all  later." 

The  clergyman  had  risen. 

"  Iglesias  ? — ah  yes,"  he  said.  "  I  remember  meeting  a 
person  of  that  name  here  once,  eh,  Lovegrove  ?  One  of  our 
parochial  oversights,  unfortunately.  He  proved  to  be  a 
dweller.  His  appearance  pleased  me  and  I  proposed  to 
call  on  him ;  and  then  in  the  press  of  my  many  duties  the 
matter  was  forgotten." 

Serena  had  risen  likewise.  A  spot  of  colour  burned  on 
either  of  her  cheeks.  Her  eyes  snapped.  She  carried  her 
small  head  high.  Her  presence  asserted  itself  quite  forci- 
bly. Her  skirts  rustled.  At  that  moment  she  was  young 
and  very  passably  pretty — an  elegant  spirited  Serena  of 
eighteen,  rather  than  a  faded  and,  alas!  spiteful  Serena 
of  close  upon  fifty. 

"  Oh !  really,  I  think  it  was  just  as  well  you  did  not 
call,  Dr.  Nevington,"  she  cried.  "  I  do  not  think  it  would 
have  been  in  the  least  suitable.  Of  course  I  may  be  wrong, 
but  I  do  not  think  you  would  have  found  anything  to  like 
in  Mr.  Iglesias.  There  was  so  much  that  was  never  really 
explained  about  him. — You  know  you  acknowledged  that 
yourself  at  one  time,  Rhoda.  But  now  you  and  George 
seem  to  have  gone  round  again  completely. — One  cannot 
help  knowing  he  associated  with  such  very  odd  people; 
and  then  the  way  in  which  he  turned  Roman  Catholic,  all 
of  a  sudden,  really  was  disgraceful." 

Dr.  Nevington's  cold,  watchful  glance  steadied  on  to 
the  speaker,  then  travelled  to  the  two  other  members  of  the 
little  company  in  sharp  inquiry.  George  Lovegrove's 


874  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

innocent  countenance  bore  an  expression  of  agonised  en- 
treaty, of  yearning,  of  apology,  yet  of  defiance.  The 
corners  of  Rhoda's  mouth  drooped,  her  large  soft  cheeks 
shook;  yet  she  stood  firm,  her  sorrow  tempered,  and  her 
whole  warm-hearted  person  rendered  stubborn,  by  virtuous 
indignation. 

"  You  forget  yourself  greatly,  Serena,"  she  said,  "  and 
when  you  have  time  to  think  it  over  will  repent  having 
passed  such  cruel  remarks.  They  are  liable  to  create  a 
very  wrong  impression,  and  cannot  fail  to  cause  severe 
pain  to  others." 

For  an  appreciable  space  the  clergyman  hesitated. 
But  Slowby  and  the  bishopric  were  ahead  of  him;  Trim- 
mer's Green  and  all  its  quaint  unimportant  little  inhabi- 
tants behind.  She  was  tedious,  no  doubt;  but  her  sister 
promised  to  be  very  useful,  so  he  threw  in  his  lot  with 
Serena. 

"  Ah,  well,  ah,  well,  for  my  part  I  admire  zeal,  I  must 
confess,  Mrs.  Lovegrove,"  he  said.  "  No  doubt  these 
terrible  lapses  will  occur.  Superstition  and  bigotry  will 
claim  their  victims  even  in  our  enlightened  century,  and 
this  free  England  of  ours.  I  would  not  judge  the  case 
of  this  poor  fellow,  Iglesias,  too  harshly.  Race  influences 
are  strong;  and  we  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  stock,  with  our 
enormous  advantages  of  brain,  and  grit,  and  hard-headed 
manliness  of  character,  can  afford — deeply  though  we  de- 
plore their  weakness  and  errors — to  be  lenient  toward  the 
less  favoured  foreigner.  Our  mission  is  to  educate  him. — 
And  this  I  think  you  should  not  have  forgotten,  Love- 
grove.  You  should  have  acted  upon  it.  You  should  have 
brought  your  unfortunate  friend  to  me.  I  should  have 
been  quite  willing  to  give  him  half  an  hour,  or  even  longer. 
A  few  facts,  a  little  plain  speaking,  might  have  saved  him 
from  more  than  I  quite  care  to  contemplate,  both  here  and 
hereafter. — However,  good-bye  to  you,  Mrs.  Lovegrove. 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  375 

You  are  starting,  too,  Miss  Serena?  Assure  your  good, 
kind  sister,  when  you  write,  how  gladly  Mrs.  Nevington 
and  I  shall  avail  ourselves  of  her  proffered  hospitality." 

"  Don't  fret,  don't  take  it  too  much  to  heart,  Georgie 
dear,"  the  wife  said  soothingly  later.  "The  vicar  did 
seem  very  stern,  but  that  was  owing  to  Serena.  I  am 
afraid  she's  a  terrible  mischief-maker,  is  Serena.  She 
turns  things  inside  out  so  in  saying  them,  that  you  do  not 
recognise  your  own  words  again.  All  this  afternoon  she 
was  most  trying.  If  Dr.  Nevington  heard  the  real  story, 
he  would  never  blame  you.  You  must  not  fret." 

"  I  am  not  fretting  about  Dr.  Nevington,"  he  answered, 
"  but  about  Dominic.  I  am  afraid  we  shall  not  have  him 
with  us  very  much  longer,  Rhoda." 

"  Oh!  dear,  oh!  dear,  you  don't  mean  it?  Never!"  she 
cried  in  accents  of  genuine  distress.  "Did  you  see  him, 
Georgie  ?  " 

"  No,  Miss  St.  John  was  there." 

The  wife's  large  cheeks  shook  again. 

"  You  know,"  she  said,  "  I  am  never  very  partial  to 
hearing  anything  about  that  Miss  St.  John.  Actresses 
are  all  very  well  in  the  theatre,  I  daresay,  but  they  are 
out  of  place  in  private  houses.  And  from  what  I  hear, 
though  there  may  be  nothing  really  wrong  with  many  of 
them,  they  are  all  sadly  free  in  their  manners.  I  should 
be  very  hurt  if  you  got  into  the  habit  of  frequenting  their 
society  much,  Georgie. — But  there,  I'm  sure  I  cannot  tell 
what  is  coming  to  all  the  women  nowadays!  You  don't 
seem  as  if  you  could  be  safe  with  any  one  of  them.  To 
think  of  a  middle-aged  person  like  Mrs.  Porcher,  for 
instance,  taking  up  with  that  little  snip  of  a  Farge,  and 
she  old  enough  to  be  his  mother !  " 

The  wife  bustled  about  the  room  straightening  the 
chairs,  patting  cushions  into  place,  folding  up  the  hand- 
kerchief which,  in  the  interests  of  human  conversation, 


376  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

had  been  thrown  over  the  cage  of  the  all-too-articulate 
parrot. 

"  I  feel  terribly  stirred  up  somehow,"  she  said,  "  what 
with  the  vicar,  and  Serena,  and  all  the  talk  about  Roman 
Catholics  and  Protestants,  and  Mrs.  Porcher's  engagement, 
too,  and  then  this  bad  news  of  Mr.  Iglesias — not  but  that 
I  am  sure  enough  we  shall  meet  him  in  heaven  some  day, 
if  we  can  ever  contrive  to  get  there  ourselves  in  all  this 
chatter  and  worry " 

She  laid  the  handkerchief  away  in  the  drawer  of  the 
work-table. 

"  Such  an  afternoon,"  she  declared,  "  what  with  one 
thing  and  another!  I  always  do  say  there's  nothing  for 
making  unpleasantnesses  like  religion  and  marriages. — 
But,  thank  God,  through  all  of  it  you  are  spared  to  me, 
Georgie." 


CHAPTER    XXXVIII 

OUTSIDE,  the  slanting  spring  sunshine  visited  the  sheltered 
strip  of  garden  in  clear  lights  and  transparent  shadows. 
The  small  grass-plat  surrounding  the  rockery  was  brightly 
green.  In  the  stone  basin  the  surface  of  the  water 
trembled,  glistening  in  broken  curves  of  silver  white. 
Along  the  narrow  border,  beneath  the  soot-stained  eastern 
wall,  yellow  and  mauve  crocuses  and  yellow  aconites 
opened  wide,  greeting  the  gentle  warmth.  Trees  in  the 
neighbouring  gardens  were  thick  with  bud.  Busily  the 
sparrows  and  starlings  came  and  went. 

Within,  the  house — though  not  uncheerful,  thanks  to  a 
scrupulous  cleanliness,  warm  colourings,  and  the  peculiar 
mellowness  which  comes  to  rooms  and  furnishings  that, 
through  prolonged  association,  have  grown  in  a  great 
mutual  friendliness  of  aspect — was  very  still,  with  the 
strange,  almost  eerie,  stillness  which  seems  to  listen  and  to 
wait. — A  singular  stillness,  from  which  the  rough  utili- 
tarian activities  of  ordinary  life  are  banished,  the  rude 
noise  of  them  suspended,  while  spiritual  presences,  rare 
apprehensions,  exquisite  memories  and  hopes,  mysterious 
invitations  of  mingled  alarm  and  ecstasy,  come  forth,  tak- 
ing on  form  and  voice,  passing  lightly  to  and  fro — an 
enchantment,  yet  in  a  manner  fearful  from  the  subtlety  of 
their  being  and  piercing  intimacy  of  their  speech.  Per- 
sonality, that  supreme  moral  and  emotional  factor  in 
human  life,  must  of  necessity  create  an  atmosphere  about 
it,  permeated  with  its  individual  tastes  and  mental  attri- 
butes, distinct  and  powerful  in  proportion  to  its  indi- 
vidual distinction  and  its  strength.  And,  without  being 
overfanciful,  it  may  be  confidently  asserted  that,  for  some 

377 


378  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

weeks  now,  ever  since  indeed  the  specialists — summoned 
in  consultation  at  the  good  Lovegroves'  and  the  Lady  of 
the  Windswept  Dust's  urgent  request — had  pronounced 
the  cardiac  affection,  from  which  Dominic  Iglesias  suf- 
fered, likely  to  terminate  fatally  in  the  near  future,  this 
living  stillness,  this  alert  tranquillity,  had  been  more  or 
less  sensible  to  all  those  who  entered  the  house,  offering 
an  arresting  contrast  to  the  multitudinous  rush  and 
clamour  of  London  without.  But  to-day  the  impression 
was  no  longer  an  intermittent  and  fugitive  one,  as  hereto- 
fore. It  was  constant  and  complete,  those  spiritual  visi- 
tants being,  as  it  would  seem,  in  full  possession ;  so  that 
the  hours  appeared  to  move  reluctantly,  and  as  though 
enjoining  watchfulness,  a  carefulness  and  economy  even  in 
prevailing  repose,  lest  any  remaining  moment  and  the 
message  of  it  should  be  overlooked  and  lost. 

It  was  characteristic  of  Iglesias  that  learning,  in  as  far 
as  the  consultant  doctors  could  diagnose  it,  the  exact  con- 
ditions of  his  physical  state,  he  should  refuse  all  experi- 
ment, however  humane  in  intention  or  plausible  in  theory. 
For  he  had  no  sympathy  with  the  modern  greediness  and 
worship  of  physical  life,  which  is  willing  to  sacrifice  the 
decencies  and  dignities  of  it  to  its  possible  prolongation. 
Courteously  but  plainly  he  bade  his  advisers  depart.  The 
body,  though  an  excellent  servant,  is  a  contemptible 
master;  and  Iglesias  proposed  that,  while  his  soul  con- 
tinued to  inhabit  it,  it  should,  as  always  before,  be  kept 
very  much  in  its  place.  It  must  remain  unobtrusive,  obedi- 
ent, not  daring  to  usurp,  in  its  present  hour  of  failure  and 
impediment,  an  interest  and  consideration  to  which,  in  its 
full  usefulness  and  vigour,  it  had  not  presumed  to  aspire. 
Therefore  Dominic  Iglesias  held  calmly  on  his  way,  seeing 
the  circle  of  his  occupations,  pleasures,  and  activities 
dwindle  and  decrease,  yet  maintaining  not  only  his  serenity 
of  mind,  but  his  accustomed  self-respecting  outward  re- 


THE    FAR    HORIZON  379 

fmemenl  of  bearing  and  habit.  To  meet  death  with  a 
gracious  stoicism,  well-dressed  and  standing  upright,  is, 
rightly  considered,  a  very  fine  art,  reflecting  much  credit 
upon  the  successful  professor  of  it. 

And  it  was  thus  that,  on  the  day  in  question,  Mr.  Iglesias 
sat  waiting,  in  the  quaint  irregularly  shaped  drawing- 
room  of  the  old  house  in  Holland  Street,  himself  the  centre 
of  that  peopled  stillness,  that  alert  tranquillity,  which  so 
strangely  and  sensibly  filled  it.  Looking  out  of  the  low 
window,  he  could  see  the  shadow  of  the  houses  shrink  and 
the  light  broaden  in  the  little  garden  below,  as  the  sun 
travelled  westward.  Looking  into  the  room  itself,  the 
many  familiar  objects  and  rich  sober  colours  of  it,  quick- 
ened by  a  flickering  of  fire-light,  were  pleasant  to  his  sense. 
The  images  which  passed  before  him,  whether  actually 
visible  or  not  he  hardly  knew,  appeared  beautiful.  Words 
and  phrases  which  occurred  to  him  were  beautiful  likewise. 
But  all  were  seen  and  heard  remotely,  as  through  some 
softly  dazzling  medium  which,  while  heightening  the  charm 
of  them,  produced  a  delicate  confusion  leaving  him  un- 
certain whether  he  really  slept  or  woke.  More  than  once, 
not  without  effort,  he  roused  himself;  but  only  to  slip 
back  again  into  the  same  state  of  fair  yet  gently  dis- 
tracted vision. 

At  last  the  sound  of  opening  casements  in  the  dining- 
room  underneath  and  of  a  voice,  touched  with  laughter, 
reached  him. 

"There,  you  absurdities — skip,  scuttle,  take  exercise, 
catch  birds,  improve  your  figures !  "  Poppy  cried,  clapping 
her  hands  encouragingly  as  she  stood  at  the  head  of  the 
flight  of  iron  steps  down  which,  with  her  foot,  she  shot  the 
toy  spaniels  unceremoniously  into  the  sunny  garden 
below. 

The  little  creatures,  welcoming  their  freedom,  forgetful 
for  once  of  their  languid  overbred  airs,  scampered  away 


380  THE     FAR    HORIZON 

yapping  and  skirmishing  in  the  merriest  fashion  about  the 
grass-plat  and  flower-beds.  The  window  closed  again  and 
there  followed  a  sound  of  voices,  inter jectional  on  Poppy's 
part,  low  and  continuous  on  that  of  Mrs.  Peters,  the  house- 
keeper. Then  a  pause,  so  prolonged  that  Iglesias,  who 
had  rallied  all  his  energy  and  prepared  to  rise  and  to  go 
forward  to  meet  his  guest,  sank  away  once  more  into  half- 
consciousness  which  neither  actually  sleeps  nor  wakes. 
When  he  came  fully  to  himself  Poppy  was  sitting  on  the 
low  window-seat  close  beside  him.  Her  back  was  to  the 
light  and  his  sight  was  somewhat  clouded,  so  that  at  first 
he  failed  to  see  her  clearly ;  but  he  knew  that  her  mood  had 
changed  and  her  laughter  departed,  through  the  sympathy 
of  her  touch,  she  holding  his  hand  as  it  lay  along  the  arm 
of  the  chair.  He  would  have  spoken,  but  she  stopped 
him. 

"  No,  dear  man,  don't  hurry,"  she  said.  "  I  know  al- 
ready. Peters  has  just  told  me,  now,  downstairs,  that  you 
received  the  Last  Sacraments  this  morning.  That's  why 
I  didn't  come  up  sooner.  I  couldn't  see  you  directly, 
somehow.  I  had — well,  I  had  to  get  my  second  wind, 
dearly  beloved,  so  to  speak.  You  see  it's  such  a  heavenly 
day  that  I  couldn't  help  feeling  happier  about  you.  I 
had  persuaded  myself  those  doctors  were  a  pack  of  croak- 
ing old  grannies  whose  collective  wisdom  had  eventuated  in 
a  wild  mistake,  and  that,  given  time  and  summer  weather, 
you  would  be  better  again — you  know  you  have  had  ups 
and  downs  lots  of  times  before — and  that  then,  when  the 
theatre  closes  and  I  have  my  holiday,  I'd  carry  you  off, 
somewhere,  anywhere,  back  to  your  own  fierce,  passionate 
Spain,  perhaps,  and  nurse  and  coax  and  care  for  you  till 
living  grew  so  pretty  a  business  you  really  wouldn't  have 
the  conscience  to  quit." 

Poppy's  voice  was  sweet  with  caressing  tones,  sym- 
pathetic in  quality  as  her  lingering  touch. 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  381 

"  Haven't  you,  perhaps,  been  a  little  premature  after 
all  ?  "  she  said.  "  Has  it  really  and  truly  come  to  that  ? 
Mightn't  you  have  put  off  those  last  grim  ceremonies  a 
trifle  longer,  and  let  them  wait?  " 

"  They  are  not  grim,  dearest  friend,  but  full  of  strong 
consolation,"  Iglesias  answered,  smiling.  He  began  to  see 
her  face  more  clearly.  Her  expression  was  tragic,  a 
world  of  anguish  in  it,  for  all  the  restraint  of  her  manner 
and  playful  glibness  of  her  speech.  "  Nor,  in  any  case," 
he  added,  "  can  they  hasten  the  event." 

"  I'm  not  altogether  sure  of  that,"  Poppy  declared 
rebelliously. 

"  I  could  not  quite  trust  myself  as  to  what  the  day 
might  bring  forth,"  Iglesias  continued.  "  In  point  of 
fact,  I  have  gained  strength  as  it  has  gone  on. — And  so 
it  seemed  wisest  and  most  fitting  to  ask  for  the  perform- 
ance of  those  sacred  rites  while  I  was  still  of  sound 
mind,  and  ready  in  my  perception  of  that  in  which  I  was 
taking  part." 

"  You  have  suffered?  "  Poppy  said. 

"  Nothing  unendurable.  The  nights  are  somewhat 
wearisome,  since  I  cannot  lie  down,  in  ordinary  fashion, 
to  rest.  But  I  sit  here,  or  wander  through  the  quiet, 
kindly  house,  contentedly  enough.  And  I  am  well  cared 
for — have  no  fear  as  to  that.  Peters  is  a  faithful 
creature.  She  nursed  my  mother  at  the  last,  and  her 
presence  is  grateful  to  me,  for  association's  sake." 

Iglesias  straightened  himself  up. 

"  There,  there,"  he  said,  "  do  not  be  too  sad.  The  road 
is  not  such  a  very  hard  one  to  tread.  The  last  few  months 
have  been  the  happiest  I  remember  since  my  childhood. 
Any  anxieties  I  felt  concerning  you  are  set  at  rest.  You 
are  famous,  and  will  be  more  famous  yet,  and  I  know  1 
shall  live  in  your  remembrance  while  you  live.  It  is  no 
slight  thing,  after  all,  for  a  man  to  have  been  loved  so  well 


THE    FAR    HORIZON 

by  the  two  women  whom  he  loved.  And  for  the  rest,  dear- 
est friend,  as  one  draws  near  to  the  edge  of  the  great 
shadow,  which  we  call  death,  one  begins  to  trust  more  and 
fuss  less ;  looking  to  the  next  step  only,  so  that  one  may 
take  it  neither  with  faltering  nor  with  presumptuous 
haste." 

"  Ah ! "  Poppy  cried,  "  that's  all  very  well  for  you. 
But  where  do  I  come  in?  I  lose  you." 

Iglesias  smiled,  lifting  his  shoulders  slightly  and  rais- 
ing his  hands. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  it  seems  that  sorrow,  here  on  earth, 
is  always,  sooner  or  later,  the  guerdon  of  love.  Why,  I 
know  not;  but  so  it  is,  as  the  most  sacred  and  august  of 
all  examples  testifies.  Only  let  us  be  thankful,  you  and  I, 
that  to  us  this  parting,  and  the  inevitable  pain  of  it,  comes 
while  love  is  still  in  its  full  strength,  having  endured  noth- 
ing unworthy,  no  shame,  or  diminution,  or  disillusionment. 
The  more  bitter  the  wrench,  the  finer  the  memory,  and  the 
more  desirable  the  meeting  which  lies  ahead,  however  far 
distant  in  time  it  may  be  and  in  difference  of  condition." 

"  Yes,  dear  man,  yes,  I  dare  say — no  doubt,"  Poppy 
answered  brokenly.  "  Only  I  can't  rise  to  these  philosophic 
heights.  I'm  right  here,  don't  you  see,  my  feet  well  on 
the  floor,  planted  in  brutal  commonplace.  I  shall  want 
you — just  simply  I  shall  want  you,  and  you  won't  be  there, 
and  I  shall  be  most  cut-throat  horribly  lonely  and  sad. 
But,  looking  at  you,  still  I  don't  believe  it.  I  won't  believe 
it.  I  shall  keep  you  a  long  while  yet." 

She  leaned  over  and  kissed  him  gently  on  the  cheek. 

"  Now  I  must  go,"  she  said,  "  if  I'm  to  get  any  dinner 
before  the  theatre.  I  would  have  liked  to  stay,  and  put 
my  poor  little  understudy  on,  so  as  to  give  her  a  chance. 
She's  a  nice  little  girl — not  half  stupid,  and  really  keen  to 
learn  and  to  work.  But  I  can't.  I'm  in  honour  bound  to 
appear  to-night.  You  see,  it's  our  second  century — the 


THE    FAR    HORIZON  383 

<f. 

first  one  we  could  not  observe,  because  it  came  at  the  end 
of  January  just  in  the  general  mourning — so  there's  an 
awful  to-do  and  tomasha  to-night,  souvenir  programmes 
and  I  don't  know  what  all,  also  a  rather  extra  special 
audience.  It  would  be  little  too  bad  if  I  played  them  false. 
But,"  she  added,  rising,  "when  it's  over  I  shall  come 
back — yes,  I  will,  I  will,  I  tell  you.  Don't  flatter  your- 
self you  can  prevent  me,  beloved  lunatic,  for  you  jolly 
well  can't. — I  shall  come  back  directly  the  performance 
is  over,  and  watch  with  you,  through  the  bad  hours  till  the 
dawn." 

Dominic  Iglesias  had  risen,  too.  He  crossed  the  room, 
going  to  the  door  and  holding  it  open  for  her ;  then,  stand- 
ing on  the  little  landing,  he  watched  her  as  she  went  down 
the  narrow  crooked  stairs.  And  so  doing,  it  came  to  him, 
with  a  movement  of  thankfulness  and  of  satisfied  pride, 
how  very  fully  in  the  past  six  months  the  Lady  of  the 
Windswept  Dust  had  realised  and  fulfilled  all  the  finer 
promise  of  her  complex  nature.  Just  as  her  figure  had 
matured,  retaining  its  admirable  proportions  and  supple- 
ness while  gaining  in  distinction  and  dignity,  her  mind 
had  matured  likewise.  Her  splendid  fearlessness  was  no 
longer  that  of  naughty  dare-devil  audacity,  but  of  secure 
position  and  recognised  success.  Indeed,  she  had  grown 
into  a  somewhat  imperial  creature,  for  whom  the  world, 
and  rightly,  is  very  willing  to  make  place. 

At  the  bottom  of  the  flight  Poppy  paused,  looking  up 
and  kissing  her  hand. 

"  Till  to-night,"  she  cried.  "  Now  I  go  to  herd  those 
two  small  miseries,  W.  O.  and  Cappadocia. — Take  most 
precious  care  of  yourself  until  I  come  back,  dear  man. 
Good-bye  and  God  keep  you,  till  to-night." 

Mr.  Iglesias  crossed  the  drawing-room,  glad  at  heart, 
erect  and  stately  as  in  the  fulness  of  health.  For  a  minute 
or  so  he  stood  looking  out  into  the  garden,  at  the  stone 


basin  full  to  the  lip — in  which  the  sparrows,  relieved  of 
the  presence  of  the  toy  spaniels,  washed  with  much  flutter- 
ing of  sooty  wings — and  at  the  spring  flowers,  beginning 
to  close  their  delicate  blossoms  as  the  sun  declined  towards 
its  setting  in  the  gold  and  grey  of  the  west.  In  the  re- 
covered stillness,  those  same  spiritual  presences,  rare  ap- 
prehensions, exquisite  memories,  mysterious  invitations, 
once  again  obtained  possession,  coming  forth,  passing 
lightly  to  and  fro,  filling  all  the  place.  In  aspect  and 
sentiment  they  were  benign,  all  fearfulness  having  gone 
from  out  them — they  telling  of  fair  things  only,  of  human 
relations  unbroken  by  treachery  or  self-seeking,  unsullied 
by  lust ;  telling,  too,  of  godly  endeavour  faithfully  to 
travel  the  road  which  leads  to  the  far  horizon  touched  by 
the  illimitable  glory  of  the  Uncreated  Light. 

But  presently  Dominic  Iglesias  became  aware  that  he 
was  very,  very  tired.  He  sat  down  in  the  chair  again, 

"  Lord  have  mercy.  Christ  have  mercy,"  he  murmured, 
crossing  himself.  "  I  think  the  day's  work  is  over.  I  will 
sleep." 

That  night  Poppy  St.  John  played  as  she  had  never 
played  before;  and  her  audience,  taking  her  astonishing 
manifestation  of  talent  as  a  compliment  to  themselves, 
cried  with  her  and  laughed  with  her  in  most  wholehearted 
fashion. 

Antony  Hammond,  in  the  stage  box  on  the  right, 
turned  to  Adolphus  Carr,  his  companion,  saying: 

"Did  I  really  write  such  admirable  drama  as  this?  I 
have  girded  at  that  term,  *  creating  a  part,'  as  an  ex- 
ample of  the  colossal  vanity  of  the  actor,  and  his  very 
inadequate  reverence  for  his  maker,  the  playwright.  But, 
I  give  you  my  word,  after  to-night  I  hide  my  diminished 
head.  The  player  and  playing  are  greater  than  any 
fondest  conception  of  mine,  when  I  put  those  words  on 
paper." 


THE     FAR     HORIZON  385 

And  Lionel  Gordon,  his  habitual  imperturbability  alto- 
gether broken  up  by  excitement,  stamped  up  and  down 
stammering : 

"  Ge-ge-henna,  gehenna,  what  possesses  the  woman  ? 
I'd  tour  creation  with  her.  She  must  be  made  to  sign  a 
three  years'  contract.  If  she  can  act  like  this  there's 
nothing  less  than  a  cool  half-million  sterling  in  her." 

And  Alaric  Barking,  lean  and  haggard,  invalided  home 
from  South  Africa,  escaping  for  one  evening  from  the 
ministrations  of  gentle  Lady  Constance  Decies  and  his 
pretty  fiancee,  sat  huddled  together  at  the  end  of  a  row  at 
the  back  of  the  pit,  hoping,  "  The  deuce !  nobody  would  see 
him,"  with  a  choke  in  his  throat.  He  would  love,  honour, 
and  cherish  his  pretty,  high-bred,  innocent  maiden;  but 
Poppy's  voice  tore  at  his  very  vitals.  And  he  asked  him- 
self how  had  he  ever  borne  to  give  her  up,  forgetting,  as 
is  the  habit  of  civilised  man  in  such  slightly  humiliating 
circumstances,  that  it  was  Poppy  herself,  not  he,  who  loved 
and  rode  away. 

Twice  the  curtain  was  raised  at  the  end  of  the  per- 
formance, and  the  Lady  of  the  Windswept  Dust  made  her 
bow  with  the  rest  of  the  company. — Now  she  could  depart ; 
thank  heaven !  she  could  go  back  to  the  strangely  still 
house  in  Holland  Street  and  fulfil  her  promise  to  Dominic 
Iglesias  to  watch  with  him  till  dawn.  All  through  the 
play,  the  passion  and  excitement  and  pathos  and  mirth  of 
it,  her  anxiety  had  deepened,  her  yearning  increased,  so 
that  the  joy  of  her  public  triumph  was  barred  and  seared 
by  intimate  pain.  Now  she  could  go.  Already  the  car- 
penters were  beginning  their  nightly  work  of  destruction, 
metamorphosing  the  so-lately  brilliant  stage  into  a  vast 
unsightly  cavern  of  gaunt  timbers,  creaking  pulleys,  noisy 
mechanical  contrivances,  gaudy  painted  surfaces  of  can- 
vas and  paper,  piled-up  properties,  of  uncertain  lights 
and  draughts  many  and  chill.  Careless  of  all  save  that 


386  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

determination  of  going,  Poppy  moved  away.  But  still 
the  unseen  audience  clamoured.  A  fury  had  taken  it,  a 
madness  such  as  will  sometimes  attack  even  the  soberest 
and  most  aristocratic  crowd,  excitement  reacting  upon  it- 
self and  stimulating  excitement,  till  the  demand  which  had 
begun  in  kindly  enthusiasm  became  oddly  violent,  even 
brutal,  men  and  women  standing  up,  applauding,  drum- 
ming, shouting  a  single  name. 

"  There,  it's  over,  thank  the  powers !  Now  let  me  get 
out  of  all  this  infernal  din,"  she  said,  putting  her  hands 
over  her  ears  as  she  pushed  into  the  wings. 

But  Lionel  Gordon  met  her,  barring  her  passage,  his 
face  working  with  nervous  agitation,  and  caught  hold  of 
her  unceremoniously  by  both  arms. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  "  she  cried  angrily.  "  I  can't 
stay.  I  have  a  case  of  illness  on  hand." 

"  Hang  illness  !  "  he  answered.  "  My  good  girl,  pull 
yourself  together.  Go  back.  Don't  be  a  blooming  fool. 
Listen — it's  you  they're  splitting  their  throats  for — yes, 
you — about  the  most  fastidious  audience  in  Europe  yell- 
ing like  a  pack  of  drunken  bookies !  Gehenna !  you're  the 
luckiest  woman  living.  You're  made,  great  heavens, 
you're  made !  " 

He  dragged  her  aside,  pushing  her  into  the  mouth  of 
the  narrow  passage  between  the  curtain  and  the  foot- 
lights, where  the  roar  of  the  house  and  the  welter  of  faces 
met  her  like  a  breaking  wave. 

Standing  against  the  edge  of  the  pavement  in  front  of 
Mr.  Iglesias'  house,  in  Holland  Street,  was  a  covered  van. 
As  Poppy  drove  up  a  couple  of  men  came  down  the  steps,, 
in  the  black  and  white  of  the  moonlight.  Their  dark 
clothing  and  somewhat  sleek  appearance  were  repulsive 
to  her.  She  swept  past  them,  swept  past  Frederick  hold- 
ing open  the  door,  and  on  up  the  stairs.  Her  hands  were 


THE    FAR    HORIZON  387 

encumbered  by  her  trailing  draperies  of  velvet  and  silver 
tissue,  and  by  an  extravagant  bouquet  of  orchids,  lilies, 
and  roses,  with  long  yellow  satin  streamers  to  it.  She  had 
not  stayed  even  to  clean  the  grease-paint  off  her  face. 
Just  as  she  was,  the  stamp  of  her  calling  upon  her,  eager, 
fictitious,  courageous,  triumphant,  pushed  by  a  great  fear, 
she  came.  But  in  the  doorway  she  faltered,  set  her  teeth, 
bowed  her  head,  and  paused. 

For  in  the  centre  of  the  room  a  bier  was  dressed,  and  on 
either  side  of  it  stood  lighted  tapers  of  brownish  wax,  in 
tall  black  and  gold  candlesticks.  At  the  foot,  some  dis- 
tance apart,  two  low-seated  rush-bottomed  high-backed 
prie-dleux  had  been  placed.  Upon  the  one  on  the  left  a 
little  nun  knelt,  her  loose  black  habit  concealing  all  the 
outline  of  her  figure.  The  white  linen  pall  was  turned 
back,  across  the  chest  of  the  corpse,  to  where  the  shapely 
long-fingered  hands  were  folded  upon  an  ebony  and  silver 
crucifix.  By  some  harsh  irony  of  imagination  Lionel 
Gordon's  voice  rang  in  Poppy's  ears :  "  My  good  girl,  pull 
yourself  together.  Gehenna!  you're  the  luckiest  woman 
living.  You're  made,  great  heavens,  you're  made !  "• 
while,  blank  despair  in  her  heart,  she  went  forward,  the 
little  nun  looking  up  momentarily  from  her  prayers,  and 
stood  beside  the  bier.  Beautiful  in  death  as  in  life,  serene, 
proud,  austere,  but  young  now  with  the  eternal  youth  of 
those  who  have  believed,  and  attained,  and  reached  the 
Land  of  the  Far  Horizon,  Dominic  Iglesias  lay  before  her. 

Presently  a  sound  of  sobbing  broke  up  the  stillness,  and 
turning,  Poppy  descried  good  George  Lovegrove,  sitting 
in  the  dusky  far  corner  of  the  room,  his  knees  wide  apart, 
his  shiny  forehead  showing  high  above  the  handkerchief 
he  pressed  against  his  eyes.  She  backed  away  from  the 
corpse,  as  in  all  reverence  from  the  presence  of  a  person- 
age august  and  sacred.  Coming  close  to  him,  she  laid  her 
hand  gently  upon  George  Lovegrove's  shoulder. 


388  THE     FAR     HORIZON 

"  Go  home,  my  best  beetle,"  she  said,  very  tenderly. 
"  You're  worn  out  with  sorrow.  Come  back  in  the  morn- 
ing if  you  will.  I  promised  Dominic  I  would  watch  with 
him  till  the  dawn.  I  keep  my  promise." 

Then  the  Lady  of  the  Windswept  Dust  laid  her  extrav- 
agant bouquet  with  its  yellow  streamers,  on  the  floor,  at 
the  foot  of  the  bier;  and  kneeling  upon  the  vacant  prie- 
dieu,  beside  the  little  nun,  buried  her  painted  face  in  her 
hands  and  wept. 


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